We Have Reached The Point

As A Teenager In Brooklyn Quentin Had Often Imagined Himself Engaged In Martial Heroics, But After This He Knew, As A Cold Immutable Fact, That He Would Do Anything Necessary, Sacrificing Whatever Or Whomever He Had To, To Avoid Risking Exposure To Physical Violence. Shame Never Came Into It. He Embraced His New Identity As A Coward. He Would Run In The Other Direction. He Would Lie Down And Cry And Put His Arms Over His Head Or Play Dead. It Didn't Matter What He Had To Do, He Would Do It And Be Glad.

The Real Problem With Being Around James Was That He Was Always The Hero. And What Did That Make You? Either The Sidekick Or The Villain.

Wasn't There A Spell For Making Yourself Happy? Somebody Must Have Invented One. How Could He Have Missed It? Why Didn't They Teach It? Was It In The Library, A Flying Book Fluttering Just Out Of Reach, Beating Its Wings Against Some High Window?

You Don’t Learn About Yourself By Being Alone, You Learn About Yourself From Other People.

I'm Not One Of Your Knockabout, Knuckle-scarred, Internet-controversy-courting Book Critics. Occasionally I Stumble Into Controversy Accidentally, But Not Because I Enjoy It. It's Probably Just Because I'm A Weird Person.