Money Was The Manure Of Politics.

Children, I Feel, Are As Much Entitled To Privacy As Human Beings.

There Are Too Many People In The World As It Is, But The Supply Of Ancient Manuscripts Is Severely Limited.

The Only Way To Do It Is To Do It: By Writing, Writing, Writing.

Who Are We Really? Combinations Of Common Chemicals That Perform Mechanical Actions For A Few Years Before Crumbling Back Into The Original Components? Fresh New Souls, Drawn At Random For Some Celestial Cupboard Where God Keeps An Unending Supply?or The Same Soul, Immortal And Eternal, Refurbished And Reused Through Endless Lives, By That Thrifty Housekeeper? In Her Wisdom And Benevolence She Wipes Off The Memory Slates, As Part Of The Cleaning Process, Because If We Could Remember All The Things We Have Experienced In Earlier Lives, We Might Object To Risking It Again.

If All Else Fails, We Will Simply Have To Drug Our Attendants, Overpower The Guards, Raise The Oppressed Peasants To Arms, And Take Over The Government.