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I had written half a dozen jaunty pieces when something went wrong. Like many writers who come by a little success, I began to take myself too seriously.

The daily ups and downs of our life,
the daily ups and downs we witness in others’ lives, all that we read and see
and think and discuss feeds its hunger, and it grows within us. It is a craft
that thrives on terrible things too; it feeds on the best and the worst in our
life, our evil feelings and our good feelings course through its blood. It
feeds on us, and it thrives.

At the center of our life is the question of human relations: as soon as we
become aware of it, that is, as soon as it presents itself as a distinct question
rather than a baffling ache, we begin reconstructing its history and retracing
its long path through our life.