Time...give Us Enough Time And Our Best-supported

Poets Seem To Write More Easily About Love Than Prose Writers. For A Start, They Own That Flexible ‘i’…. Then Again, Poets Seem Able To Turn Bad Love – Selfish, Shitty Love – Into Good Love Poetry. Prose Writers Lack This Power Of Admirable, Dishonest Transformation. We Can Only Turn Bad Love Into Prose About Bad Love. So We Are Envious (and Slightly Distrustful) When Poets Talk To Us Of Love.

I Remember Laughing With Relief That The Same Old Adolescent Boredom Goes On From Generation To Generation. ...the Words Took Me Back To My Own Years Of Stagnancy, And That Terrible Waiting For Life To Begin. [p. 68]

I’ve Always Thought You Are What You Are And You Shouldn’t Pretend To Be Anyone Else. But Oliver Used To Correct Me And Explain That You Are Whoever It Is You’re Pretending To Be.

Women Scheme When They Are Weak, They Lie Out Of Fear. Men Scheme When They Are Strong, They Lie Out Of Arrogance.

But That’s One Advantage Of Fiction, You Can Speed Up Time.