I'll Tell You One Thing, Though. It's

The Line Of Gray Along The Horizon Is Brighter Now, And With The Coming Light I Feel A Certainty: That There Is, Despite Our Wild Imaginings, Only One Life. The Ghostly Others, No Matter How Real They Seem, No Matter How Badly We Need Them, Are Phantoms. The One Life We're Left With Is Sufficient To Fill And Refill Our Imperfect Hearts With Joy, And Then To Shatter Them. And It Never, Ever Lets Up.

I Was The One Who Did Come Through That Door. You Were The One She Was Waiting For.

He'd Discovered That His Memories Of That Summer Were Like Bad Movie Montages - Young Lovers Tossing A Frisbee In The Park, Sharing A Melting Ice-cream Cone, Bicycling Along The River, Laughing, Talking, Kissing, A Sappy Score Drowning Out The Dialogue Because The Screenwriter Had No Idea What These Two People Might Say To Each Other.

I Have To Have A Character Worth Caring About. I Tend Not To Start Writing Books About People I Don't Have A Lot Of Sympathy For Because I'm Just Going To Be With Them Too Long.

I Think That If People Are Instructed About Anything, It Should Be About The Nature Of Cruelty. And About Why People Behave So Cruelly To Each Other. And What Kind Of Satisfactions They Derive From It. And Why There Is Always A Cost, And A Price To Be Paid.