I Turned Down A Knighthood. It Would

Authors, She Soon Decided, Were Probably Best Met Within The Pages Of Their Novels, And Were As Much Creatures Of The Reader's Imagination As The Characters In Their Books. Nor Did They Seem To Think One Had Done Them A Kindness By Reading Their Writings. Rather They Had Done One The Kindness By Writing Them.

I Was An Only Child. I Lost Both My Parents. By The Time I Was Twenty I Was Bald. I'm Homosexual. In The Way Of Circumstances And Background To Transcend I Had Everything An Artist Could Possibly Want. It Was Practically A Blueprint.

Memories Are Not Shackles, Franklin, They Are Garlands.

To Begin With, It's True, She Read With Trepidation And Some Unease. The Sheer Endlessness Of Books Outfaced Her And She Had No Idea How To Go On; There Was No System To Her Reading, With One Book Leading To Another, And Often She Had Two Or Three On The Go At The Same Time.

What She Was Finding Also Was How One Book Led To Another, Doors Kept Opening Wherever She Turned And The Days Weren't Long Enough For The Reading She Wanted To Do.