Is It Not Love That Knows How

Dear Though The Reader Might Be, I'd Be Silly To Cater To What The Reader Wanted.

Behind Every Door On Every Ordinary Street, In Every Hut In Every Ordinary Village In This Middling Planet Of A Trivial Star, Such Riches Are To Be Found. The Strange Journeys We Undertake On Our Earthly Pilgrimage, The Joy And Suffering We Taste Or Confer, The Chance Events That Leave Us Together Or Apart, What A Complex Trace They Leave: So Personal As To Be Almost Incommunicable, So Fugitive As To Be Almost Irrecoverable.

It's Not The Gods But Our Own Hearts We Need To Fear. The Evil Starts Against All Odds Not There But Here.

I Often Feel Newspapers Are Just Filling Up Space. Of Course, I Also Know People Who Write Really Long Books.

God Save Us From People Who Mean Well.