But these self-doubts did not last long; I dulled the sense of loss through reading, reading, writing and more writing. (2.15.186)
"Richard, are you ill?" my mother called.
"No. I’m reading." (2.18.34)
My writing was my way of seeing, my way of living, my way of feeling; and who could change his sight, his notion of direction, his senses? (2.19.173)