You're never ready for what you have to do. You just do it. That makes you ready.
~ Flora Rheta Schreiber
Will there never be an end that also has a beginning? Will there never be continuity bridging the awful void between now and some other time, a time in the future, a time in the past?
There is no past. Past is present when you carry it with you.
Theirs was the eternal youth of an alternating self, a youth with the constant although unfulfilled promise of growing up
She'd abandoned the animal she loved as she herself had been abandoned repeatedly in the past by people who had claimed to love her.
Isolated, she managed somehow to feel free—albeit with a freedom that made her want to smash a hole in the very center of the universe.
The neurologist had dismissed her case after a single visit, handing out an easy nostrum by telling her father that if she continued to write poetry, she would be all right.
It all made sense — terrible sense. The panic she had experienced in the warehouse district because of not knowing what had happened had been superseded at the newsstand by the even greater panic of partial knowledge. And now the torment of partly knowing had yielded to the infinitely greater terror of knowing precisely
It is so much more threatening to have something out of hand than to believe that at any moment I can stop (I started to say This foolishness) any time I need to.
