The lady was old, the lady was ill. It didn't matter what the lady believed.
She loved you in the morning because the day was new.
A writer's duty is to register what it is like for him or her to be in the world.
I often worry that my idea of personhood is nostalgic, irrational, inaccurate.
Sometimes, one wants to have the illusion that one is making ones own life, out of ones own resources.
'A reality shaped around your own desires' - there is something sociopathic in that ambition.