But why couldn't she tell me? Why did I have to discover-" "Because you couldn't receive it. Because in your smallness you had not the graciousness to receive this gift. You cannot live because you have not ever looked at life. You crush loveliness on the rocks of your stinking pride. I wonder if you ever could understand.

Nearly everyone has had a box of secret pain, shared with no one.

This is the greatest mystery of the human mind--the inductive leap. Everything falls into place, irrelevancies relate, dissonance becomes harmony, and nonsense wears a crown of meaning. But the clarifying leap springs from the rich soil of confusion, and the leaper is not unfamiliar with pain.

I wonder if he had a Cathy and who she was.

I wonder if he had a Cathy and who see was.

I have taken as much as six years to prepare a book for writing. There is such a delirium of effort in the production of a book; it's like childbirth. And, like childbirth, one forgets the pains immediately so that when you come to write another one you dare to take it up again. Some precious anesthesia sees you through.

The people say that the two seemed to be removed from human experience; that they had gone through pain and had come out on the other side.

And finally comes culture, which is entertainment, relaxation, transport out of the pain of living.