I Can Be Glib And Truthful All

You Just Kind Of Have Faith. If That Sounds Kind Of Mystical, It's Because I Really Don't Know How It Works, But I Trust That It Does. I Try To Write The Way I Read, In Order To Find Out What Happens Next.

Since Her Retirement From Teaching Miss Beryl's Health Had In Many Respects Greatly Improved, Despite Her Advancing Years. An Eighth-grade Classroom Was An Excellent Place To Snag Whatever Was In The Air In The Way Of Illness. Also Depression, Which, Miss Beryl Believed, In Conjunction With Guilt, Opened The Door To Illness. Miss Beryl Didn't Know Any Teachers Who Weren't Habitually Guilty And Depressed-guilty They Hadn't Accomplished More With Their Students, Depressed That Very Little More Was Possible.

I Don't Think America Has Ever Had A Center The Way London Is The Center Of England Or Dublin Is The Center Of Ireland.

"if You Paid Me For Work," Continued Max, Whose Rhetoric Was More Sophisticated Than You Might Expect From A Man With Food In His Beard, "i Wouldn't Have To Feel Worthless. There's Not Law Says Old People Have To Feel Worthless All The While, You Know. You Paid Me, I'd Have Some Dignity." Now It Was Mile's Turn To Nod And Smile Agreeably. "i Think The Dignity Ship Set Sail A Long Time Ago, Dad."

People In Small Towns, Much More Than In Cities, Share A Destiny.