Insults are bad but praise is worse, for praise feels good and I want to repeat the feeling. So I try to repeat what I have written. And this is fatal, for then I am writing a copy - dead prose - in the hope of praise.
Praise is as seductive as honey and leads me by the nose into a nosedive.
The road to hell, they tell me, is paved with good intentions; and the road to dullness is littered with praise.
The first thing I had to learn on the internet was to be insulted by perfect strangers, and the second thing was to be poisoned by their praise.
At times I fool myself and tell myself I am relying on the kindness of strangers, when I should heed my mother's words and beware of stranger danger.