People Don't Acknowledge Loneliness In Themselves, And

I Like A Book To Be Full Of The Memory Of What It Is, A Voice In An Endless Conversation, And Yet At The Same Time To Be New.

Every Single One Of Us Is A Little Civilization Built On The Ruins Of Any Number Of Preceding Civilizations, But With Our Own Variant Notions Of What Is Beautiful And What Is Acceptable - Which, I Haste To Add, We Generally Do Not Satisfy And By Which We Struggle To Live.

Characters More Or Less Present Themselves To Me. I Don't Know Their Origins. I Think If I Did, If I Seemed To Myself To Fabricate Them, I Could Not Induce Suspension Of Disbelief In Myself In The Way Writing Fiction Requires.

Ascension Seemed At Such Times A Natural Law. If One Added To It A Law Of Completion - That Everything Must Finally Be Made Comprehensible - Then Some General Rescue Of The Sort I Imagined My Aunt To Have Undertaken Would Be Inevitable. For Why Do Our Thoughts Turn To Some Gesture Of A Hand, The Fall Of A Sleeve, Some Corner Of A Room On A Particular Anonymous Afternoon, Even When We Are Asleep, And Even When We Are So Old That Our Thoughts Have Abandoned Other Business? What Are All These Fragments For , If Not To Be Knit Up Finally?

We [americans] Inherited British Law, Which Is Like The New "reforms" That Are Being Made Now, In The Sense That People Are Permanently Entrapped In Debt, If They Once Fall Into Bankruptcy. The Reason That The Law Was Changed In American History - The Whole Early Period Of The Formation Of The Country Was Moving Away From British Law Into A Law That Is Generated Here And That Conforms To The Sense Of What Is Appropriate Here.