We Read To Find Life, In All

But We're Lost In A World Of Appearances Now.

If I Had To Summarize, Most Broadly, My Concerns As A Writer, I'd Say The Question 'how Then Must We Live?' Is At The Heart Of It, For Me.

And Then, Into The Fantasy, As Into A Dream, Would Come The Thought: It's Not Like This Anymore; The World Has Changed. Just The Way, Even At That Time Fully Two Years After My Mother's Death, I'd Catch Myself Thinking About Her As Alive; And Would Suddenly Remember, An Admonitory Finger Of Grief Upon My Breast, That She Was Gone.

Anyway, These Books I Love, They’re All Books By Men—every Last One Of Them. Because If It’s Unseemly And Possibly Dangerous For A Man To Be Angry, It’s Totally Unacceptable For A Woman To Be Angry. I Wanted To Write A Voice That For Me, As A Reader, Had Been Missing From The Chorus: The Voice Of An Angry Woman.

I Measure My Life Out In Books." "you Should Be Measuring Your Life By Living. Correction: You Shouldn't Be Measuring Your Life. What's The Point?