The Danger With Hatred Is, Once You

What I Have In Mind When I Start To Write Could Fit Inside An Acorn-an Acorn, Moreover, That Rarely If Ever Grows Into An Oak. Write Fiction And You Relinquish Reason. You Start With An Acorn And You End Up With A Mackerel.

'haunted By The Past' Is A Commonplace Phrase Because It's A Commonplace Experience. Even If One Is Not, Strictly Speaking, 'haunted', The Past Is Perpetually With One In The Present, And The Longer It Grows And The Further It Recedes The Stronger Its Presence Seems To Become.

All That We Don't Know Is Astonishing. Even More Astonishing Is What Passes For Knowing.

No Matter How Much You Know, No Matter How Much You Think, No Matter How Much You Plot And You Connive And You Plan, You're Not Superior To Sex. It's A Very Risky Game.... It's Sex That Disorders Our Normally Ordered Lives.

I Was Gushing And I Knew It. I Surprised Myself With My Eagerness To Please, Felt Myself Saying Too Much, Explaining Too Much, Overinvolved And Overexcited In The Way You Are When You're A Kid And You Think You've Found A Soul Mate In The New Boy Down The Street And You Feel Yourself Drawn By The Force Of The Courtship And So Act As You Don't Normally Do And A Lot More Openly Than You May Even Want To.