From My Diaries (2006–10) in Alphabetical Order


A 5,000-word article.

A bark worse than its bite.

A beautiful soul, person.

A big bulky man walked past us in the road and made a Hulkish yell and then punched the wall.

A big email list.

A book like a shopping mart—all the selections.

A book that is a game.

A budget will help you to know where to go.


A certain kind of bore who has said all he is saying, said it all before, and expects to hear nothing new from you on the subject.

A certain lack of self-centeredness, belief in one’s own innate genius, and faith in hard work, long hours.


Actually, he doesn’t want to love you.

Actually, he doesn’t want you.

Actually, he is looking around the world for another girl, and because of who he is, he will find one and be with her.


All I want is some more experiences with him.

All I want is to read books for a year.

All I want to tell him is that he should take care of himself—that he doesn’t need to take care of me, I can take care of myself, and he ought to take care of himself first.

All I wanted was “a physical life.”


An interest in a wide variety of people.

An interest in casting.

An interest in doing research.

An interest in sex.

An interest in streetcar drivers.

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