Are Not All Loves Secretly The Same?

I Must Suppose That Reading Wonderful Writers May, Inadvertently, Teach An Avid Reader A Great Deal -- Not Only About Life And Other Matters, But About How To Write. Therefore Doubtless I Have Benefited From Frequent Immersions In The Glowing Genius Of Others. It Would Be Nice To Think So. (i Do Actually Think So). But To Improve My Skills Will Never Be The Prompting Force Of My Reading -- That's Just Literary Lust.

What Is Any Of This To Us? Time Is Endless And Ours. Love And Death Are Only The Games We Play In It.

I'm Not Very Good At Being Alive. Sometimes I Despair Of Ever Mastering It, Getting It Right. When I'm Old, Perhaps.

It's Very Selfish When I Write. I'm Not Aware, Ever, Of Writing For Another Person; I'm Not Even Really Aware Of Writing For Myself.

Hope Is A Punishable Offense. The Verdict Is Always Death; One More Death Of The Heart.