Our Accepting What We Are Must Always

If Anything Might Hurt Her, Silence Would; And I Wanted To Hurt Her.

No Amount Of Reading And Intelligent Deduction Could Supplant The Direct Experience.

I Am Infinitely Strange To Myself.

He Is Solid; Immovable, Iron-willed. He Showed Me One Day His Killing Bottle. I'm Imprisoned In It. Fluttering Against The Glass. Because I Can See Through It I Still Think I Can Escape. I Have Hope. But It's All An Illusion. A Thick Round Wall Of Glass.

I Do Not Plan My Fiction Any More Than I Normally Plan Woodland Walks; I Follow The Path That Seems Most Promising At Any Given Point, Not Some Itinerary Decided Before Entry.