In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else’s dream.
The reason women are turning you down for casual sex seems to be that, for one thing, a lot of you are calling them sluts afterward. Also, a lot of you aren’t bothering to try to be good in bed.
Dear Pop …
I’m fed up, disgusted, and totally out of sorts with Duke University and formal education in general, for that matter… For a person whose sole burning ambition is to write — like myself — college is useless beyond the Sophomore year.
— Happy birthday, William Styron! The author, at age 20, on why formal education is a waste of time for writers and what it actually takes to do great writing (via explore-blog)