It never occurred to me to say no.

A terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use.

The constant struggle in mature life, I think, is to accept the necessity of tragedy and conflict, and not to try to escape to some falsely simple solution which does not include these more somber complexities.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.

It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell-tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.

The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment.

Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.