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I Think To The Degree Writers Are Serious, There Is A Greater Tendency For Them To Write To Themselves, Because They're Trying To Compose Their Own Thoughts. They Are Trying To Find Out What Is In Their Minds, Which Is The Great Mystery. Finding Out Who You Are, What Is In Your Head, And What Kind Of Companion You Are To Yourself In The Course Of Life. I Do Think People Have Very Profound Lives Of Which They Say Virtually Nothing.

She Knew That Was Not An Honest Prayer, And She Did Not Linger Over It. The Right Prayer Would Have Been, Lord . . . I Am Miserable And Bitter At Heart, And Old Fears Are Rising Up In Me So That Everything I Do Makes Everything Worse.

I Don't Know Exactly What Covetous Is, But In My Experience It Is Not So Much Desiring Someone Else's Virtue Or Happiness As Rejecting It, Taking Offense At The Beauty Of It.

These People Who Can See Right Through You Never Quite Do You Justice, Because They Never Give You Credit For The Effort You're Making To Be Better Than You Actually Are, Which Is Difficult And Well Meant And Deserving Of Some Little Notice.

I Wrote Almost All Of It In The Deepest Hope And Conviction. Sifting My Thoughts And Choosing My Words. Trying To Say What Was True. And I'll Tell You Frankly, That Was Wonderful.