I Get And Read An Enormous Number

In The End It All Came Down To Companionship, To Friendship, To Sacrifice, To Compromise.

"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."

I Think The Darker Aspect Of My Fiction-or Anybody's Fiction-is By Its Very Nature Somehow Easier To Talk About.

As I Drift Back Into Sleep, I Can't Help Thinking That It's A Wonderful Thing To Be Right About The World. To Weigh The Evidence, Always Incomplete, And Correctly Intuit The Whole, To See The World In A Grain Of Sand, To Recognize Its Beauty, Its Simplicity, Its Truth. It's As Close As We Get To God In This Life, And Reside In The Glow Of Such Brief Flashes Of Understanding, Fully Awake, Sometimes For Two Or Three Seconds, At Peace With Our Existence. And Then Back To Sleep We Go.

Knowing And Knowing What To Do About It Were Two Different Things.