“She had not character enough to take to drinking, and moaned about, slip-shod and in curl-papers, all day.”

“She would try to live life one day at a time, like an alcoholic--drink, don't drink, drink. Perhaps she should take drugs.”

“Sometimes you can write about a character's day in under a minute and sometimes it takes a day just to write about a minute.”

“Watching the children, he noticed two things especially. A girl of about five, and her sister, who was no more than three, wanted to drink from the pebbled concrete fountain at the playground’s edge, but it was too high for either of them, so the five-year-old…jumped up and, resting her stomach on the edge and grasping the sides, began to drink. But she was neither strong enough nor oblivious enough of the pain to hand on, and she began to slip off backward. At this, the three-year-old…advanced to her sister and, also grasping the edge of the fountain, placed her forehead against her sister’s behind, straining to hold her in place, eyes closed, body trembling, curls spilling from her cap. Her sister drank for a long time, held in position by an act as fine as Harry had ever seen on the battlefields of Europe.”

“God,” I moaned. “Do they use that stuff as rocket fuel?”“No one made you keep drinking it.”“Hey, don’t get preachy. Besides, I had to be polite.”“Sure,” she said.”

“Completely alive. I thought abut what she meant by that; about all the joy and wonder and passion that had slipped from her fingers.”