I Have A Particular Dislike Of Human

Accident Is As Much A Part Of Fiction As Anything Else, Symbolic Of The Grace That, Along With Will, Conspires To Put Words On The Page.

Truth Is No Rounder Than A Horse's Eye.

In Daily Life Language Is Important, If Not In Itself, Then As A Symptom.

Peter Lake Had No Illusions About Mortality. He Knew That It Made Everyone Perfectly Equal, And That The Treasures Of The Earth Were Movement, Courage, Laughter, And Love. The Wealthy Could Not Buy These Things. On The Contrary, They Were For The Taking.

She Died On A Windy Gray Day In March When The Sky Was Full Of Darting Crows And The World Lay Prostrate And Defeated After Winter. Peter Lake Was At Her Side And It Ruined Him Forever. It Broke Him As He Had Not Ever Imagined He Could Have Been Broken. He Would Never Again Be Young, Or Able To Remember What It Was Like To Be Young. What He Had Once Taken To Be Pleasures Would Appear To Him In His Defeat As Hideous And Deserved Punishments For Reckless Vanity.