But death's acquisitive instincts will win.
Public radio is alive and kicking, it always has been.
This identity, this mind, this particular cast of speech, is nearly over.
Death and I are head to head in a total collision, pure and mutual distaste.
Almost the first thing I did when I became ill was to buy a truly good television set.
I feel sorry for the man who marries you... because everyone thinks you're sweet and you're not.
I have thousands of opinions still - but that is down from millions - and, as always, I know nothing.
Being ill like this combines shock - this time I will die - with a pain and agony that are unfamiliar, that wrench me out of myself.
Me, my literary reputation is mostly abroad, but I am anchored here in New York. I can't think of any other place I'd rather die than here.
I look upon another's insistence on the merits of his or her life - duties, intellect, accomplishment - and see that most of it is nonsense.