Americans' Great And Secret Fear Is That

I Think That One Is Constantly Startled By The Things That Appear Before You On The Page When You're Writing.

Going To Europe, Someone Had Written, Was About As Final As Going To Heaven. A Mystical Passage To Another Life, From Which No-one Returned The Same. Those Returning In Such Ships Were Invincible, For They Had Managed It And Could Reflect Ever After On Anne Hathaway's Cottage Or The Tower Of London With A Confidence That Did Generate At Sydney. There Was Nothing Mythic At Sydney; Momentous Objects, Beings And Events All Occurred Abroad Or In The Elsewhere Of Books.

I Never Had, Or Wished For, Power Over You. That Isn't True, Of Course. I Wanted The Greatest Power Of All. But Not Advantage, Or Authority.

The Sweetness That All Longed For Night And Day. Some Tragedy Might Be Idly Guessed At-loss Or Illness. She Had The Luminosity Of Those About To Die.

I Wasn't Convinced A Shop Girl Would Know The Word 'oedipal.