My Father Was A Norwegian

A Life Is Made Up Of A Great Number Of Small Incidents, And A Small Number Of Great Ones.

I Am Only 8 Years Old, I Told Myself. No Little Boy Of 8 Has Ever Murdered Anyone. It's Not Possible.

Grown Ups Are Complicated Creatures, Full Of Quirks And Secrets.

There Is Something About Very Cold Weather That Gives One An Enormous Appetite. Most Of Us Find Ourselves Beginning To Crave Rich Steaming Stews And Hot Apple Pies And All Kinds Of Delicious Warming Dishes; And Because We Are All A Great Deal Luckier Than We Realize, We Usually Get What We Want—or Near Enough.

Don't Gobblefunk Around With Words.