I Am A Story Teller. If I

We Don't Need Lists Of Rights And Wrongs, Tables Of Do's And Don'ts: We Need Books, Time, And Silence. Thou Shalt Not Is Soon Forgotten, But Once Upon A Time Lasts Forever.

It's Only Through Honesty And Courage That Science Can Work At All. The Ptolemaic Understanding Of The Solar System Was Undermined And Corrected By The Constant Pressure Of More And More Honest Reporting.

I Feel With Some Passion That What We Truly Are Is Private, And Almost Infinitely Complex, And Ambiguous, And Both External And Internal, And Double- Or Triple- Or Multiply Natured, And Largely Mysterious Even To Ourselves; And Furthermore That What We Are Is Only Part Of Us, Because Identity, Unlike "identity", Must Include What We Do. And I Think That To Find Oneself And Every Aspect Of This Complexity Reduced In The Public Mind To One Property That Apparently Subsumes All The Rest ("gay", "black", "muslim", Whatever) Is To Be The Victim Of A Piece Of Extraordinary Intellectual Vulgarity.

She Wondered Whether There Would Ever Come An Hour In Her Life When She Didn't Think Of Him -- Didn't Speak To Him In Her Head, Didn't Relive Every Moment They'd Been Together, Didn't Long For His Voice And His Hands And His Love. She Had Never Dreamed Of What It Would Feel Like To Love Someone So Much; Of All The Things That Had Astonished Her In Her Adventures, That Was What Astonished Her The Most. She Thought The Tenderness It Left In Her Heart Was Like A Bruise That Would Never Go Away, But She Would Cherish It Forever.

Being In Love Was Like China: You Knew It Was There, And No Doubt It Was Very Interesting, And Some People Went There, But I Never Would.