A Novelist Is On The Cusp Between

Art Doesn't Exist If You Just Do What You're Told. It Only Exists As An Exercise Of Individual Taste And Freedom.

I Have Reared, Or Helped To Rear, Five Children And The Scariest Bit, Bar None, Is The Learning To Drive Part. It Has Filled Me With Anxiety Not Only About The Children, But Also About My Former Self And My Friends.

You Know What Getting Married Is? It's Agreeing To Taking This Person Who Right Now Is At The Top Of His Form, Full Of Hopes And Ideas, Feeling Good, Looking Good, Wildly Interested In You Because You're The Same Way, And Sticking By Him While He Slowly Disintegrates. And He Does The Same For You. You're His Responsibility Now And He's Yours. If No One Else Will Take Care Of Him, You Will. If Everyone Else Rejects You, He Won't. What Do You Think Love Is? Going To Bed All The Time?

Many Said That Now There Was No Hope Of Salvation, For A Man Might Do Anything And Be In The Wrong. There Was No Way To Tell. It Was Better To Stay On The Steading And Mind The Cows And Be Content With Such Days As Are Left To One And Cease To Wonder About Life Everlasting.

I Readily Admit It Is Easy To Make Of Horses What We Will. Silent, In Some Ways Reserved, They Allow Us To Train Them, And To Project Our Ideas Upon Them; To Ride And Drive Them, And To Make Them Symbolic, Perhaps To A Greater Degree Than Any Other Species.