There's Things That Happen In

The Thing About Exploring Is That You Have To Know Whether The Thing You've Found Is Worth Finding. Some Things Are Just Sitting There, Minding Their Own Business, Waiting To Be Discovered. Like America. And Other Things Are Probably Better Off Left Alone. Like A Dead Mouse At The Back Of The Cupboard.

. . .only The Victims And Survivors Can Truly Comprehend The Awfulness Of That Time And Place; The Rest Of Us Live On The Other Side Of The Fence, Staring Through From Our Own Comfortable Place, Trying In Our Own Clumsy Ways To Make Sense Of It All.

I Hope For So Much From Every Book I Read. And Time And Again, I Find Myself Disappointed. I Look Across My Bookshelves And See Hundreds Of Titles Which In My Memory Seem Merely Mediocre Or Second-rate. Only Occasionally Does A Novel Appear For Which I Feel A Lasting Passion, A Book That I Think Could In Time Become A Classic.

He Looked The Boy Up And Down As If He Had Never Seen A Child Before And Wasn't Quite Sure What He Was Supposed To Do With One: Eat It, Ignore It Or Kick It Down The Stairs.

Just Because A Man Glances Up At The Sky At Night Does Not Make Him An Astronomer, You Know.