Gold Don't Come Off. What's Good Stays

Don't Believe Everything You Hear Today

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

It Was Like Wondering How Evil Had Come Into The World Or What Happens To A Person After He Dies: An Interesting Philosophical Exercise, But Also Curiously Pointless, Since Evil And Death Happened, Regardless Of The Why And The How And What-it-meant.

Already, Though, She Understood The Difference Between Being A Child And Being An Adult. The Difference Is When Someone Says He Can Keep The Bad Things Away, A Child Believes Him.

Horror Was Rooted In Sympathy . . . In Understanding What It Would Be Like To Suffer The Worst.