I Was An Only Child. I've Known

Many Said That Now There Was No Hope Of Salvation, For A Man Might Do Anything And Be In The Wrong. There Was No Way To Tell. It Was Better To Stay On The Steading And Mind The Cows And Be Content With Such Days As Are Left To One And Cease To Wonder About Life Everlasting.

Is Human Nature Basically Good Or Evil? No Economist Can Embark Upon His Profession Without Considering This Question, And Yet They All Seem To. And They All Seem To Think Human Nature Is Basically Good, Or They Wouldn't Be Surprised By The Effects Of Deregulation.

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.

I Was Depressed, But That Was A Side Issue. This Was More Like Closing Up Shop, Or, Say, Having A Big Garage Sale, Where You Look At Everything You've Bought In Your Life, And You Remember How Much It Meant To You, And Now You Just Tag It For A Quarter And Watch 'em Carry It Off, And You Don't Care. That's More Like How It Was.

Sometimes, A Novel Is Like A Train: The First Chapter Is A Comfortable Seat In An Attractive Carriage, And The Narrative Speeds Up. But There Are Other Sorts Of Trains, And Other Sorts Of Novels. They Rush By In The Dark; Passengers Framed In The Lighted Windows Are Smiling And Enjoying Themselves.