William Styron Quote

Certain writing instrument—became the objects of my demented possessiveness. Each momentary misplacement filled me with a frenzied dismay, each item being the tactile reminder of a world soon to be obliterated. November wore on, bleak, raw and chill. One Sunday

William Styron

Certain writing instrument—became the objects of my demented possessiveness. Each momentary misplacement filled me with a frenzied dismay, each item being the tactile reminder of a world soon to be obliterated. November wore on, bleak, raw and chill. One Sunday

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