I Thought I Might Write Mysteries For

The One Thing ... Maybe No Family Could Tolerate Was Things Coming Out Into The Open.

My Great Fear Is Not That I'll Run Out Of Ideas. It's That I'll Run Out Of Time.

Good Intentions Are Wicked! As Far As I Can See, All They Lead To Are Lies And Delusions.

I Had Spent Years Thinking About One Thing While I Was Doing Another. I Had, In Fact, Prided Myself On Being Able To Do Two Things At Once.

Twenty-five, He Was. Twenty-five Tomorrow. Some Years The Snow Had Melted For His Birthday, But Not This Year, And So It Had Been A Long Winter Full Of Cows.