The tragedy of power like mine is that there is no way down. There can only be extinction. Dust to dust rags to rags fear to fear.
I liked to feel I had to do things perfectly; I felt I was earning my freedom. Though I was in hiding, and though I worked every day until midnight, I felt I was much more in charge of myself than I had ever been.
It is wrong to have an ideal view of the world. That's where the mischief starts. That's where everything starts unravelling...
Small things start us in new ways of thinking
And that luck was only fate's cheating, giving an illusion of power. But that illusion lingered, and I became restless. I decided to act, to challenge fate. (...) I gained courage; every afternoon I walked a little farther. And one day I got there.
What matters in the end in literature, what is always there, is the truly good. And -- though played out forms can throw up miraculous sports like The Importance of Being Earnest or Decline and Fall-- what is good is always what is new, in both form and content. What is good forgets whatever models it might have had, and is unexpected; we have to catch it on the wing. ((p. 62, Reading & Writing)
It was a light which gave solidity to everything and drew colour out from the heart of objects.
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