The Constant Happiness Is Curiosity.

And Did I Not Think Then, What Nonsense It Is To Suppose One Man So Different From Another When All That Life Really Boils Down To Is Getting A Decent Cup Of Coffee And Room To Stretch Out In?

Never Underestimate The Meanness In People's Souls... Even When They're Being Kind... Especially When They're Being Kind.

She Sits In Her Usual Ample Armchair, With Piles Of Books And Unopened Magazines Around Her. She Sips Cautiously From The Mug Of Weak Herb Tea Which Is Now Her Substitute For Coffee. At One Time She Thought That She Could Not Live Without Coffee, But It Turned Out That It Is Really The Warm Large Mug She Wants In Her Hands, That Is The Aid To Thought Or Whatever It Is She Practices Through The Procession Of Hours, Or Of Days.

Because If She Let Go Of Her Grief Even For A Minute It Would Only Hit Her Harder When She Bumped Into It Again.

It Was At This Time That She Entirely Gave Up On Reading. The Covers Of Books Looked Like Coffins To Her, Either Shabby Or Ornate, And What Was Inside Them Might As Well Have Been Dust.