Some People Think This Is

The Landscape Was Snow And Green Ice On Broken Mountains. These Weren't Old Mountains, Worn Down By Time And Weather And Full Of Gentle Ski Slopes, But Young, Sulky, Adolescent Mountains. They Held Secret Ravines And Merciless Crevices. One Yodel Out Of Place Would Attract, Not The Jolly Echo Of A Lonely Goatherd, But Fifty Tons Of Express-delivery Snow.

I Think It's Impossible For Anyone Famous To Come From Here, Because Everyone Around Here Is Insane.

Chaos Is Found In Greatest Abundance Wherever Order Is Being Sought. It Always Defeats Order, Because It Is Better Organized.

One Of The Important Things About Being A Small-town Reporter Is Knowing What Not To Put In The Paper.

Open Your Eyes And Then Open Your Eyes Again.