I Know, Speaking For Myself, No Matter

I Think Of The People Who Commit These Acts As Children. They're In Their 20s, But Like Certain Children, They Have Been Told Only One Story, Over And Over. Like Most Children, They Believe In An Easily Identifiable Good And Evil, And Like Most Children, They Are Capable Of Unthinkable Cruelty.

Dear Leonard. To Look Life In The Face. Always To Look Life In The Face And To Know It For What It Is. At Last To Know It. To Love It For What It Is, And Then, To Put It Away. Leonard. Always The Years Between Us. Always The Years. Always The Love. Always The Hours.

There Is Just This For Consolation: An Hour Here Or There, When Our Lives Seem, Against All Odds And Expectations, To Burst Open And Give Us Everything We've Ever Imagined , Though Everyone But Children (and Perhaps Even They) Knows These Hours Will Inevitably Be Followed By Others, Far Darker And More Difficult. Still, We Cherish The City, The Morning, We Hope, More Than Anything, For More. Heaven Only Knows Why We Love It So.

Sure, Go Ahead, Simulate Life, Using Only Ink And Paper.

That Summer When She Was Eighteen, It Seemed Anything Could Happen, Anything At All.