No Writer Should Minimize The Factor That

The Pain Comes From Knowing That We Have Never Been Safe, And Therefore Will Never Be Safe Again. It Comes From Knowing We Can Never Be So Ignorant Again. It Comes From Knowing We Can Never Be Children Again. Losing Innocence. Remembering Heaven. That Was The Essence Of Hell.

The Pain Comes From More Than The Facts Of Circumstance, Or The Deeds Of Others. It Comes From Within. From Understanding What We Lost. It Comes From Knowing How Foolish We Were - Vain, Arrogant Children - When We Thought Ourselves Happy. It Comes From Knowing How Fragile And Doomed The Old Ways Were, Just When We Thought Them And Ourselves, Secure!. The Pain Comes From Knowing We Have Never Been Safe, And Therefore Will Never Be Safe Again. It Comes From Knowing We Can Never Be Children Again.

We Are All Dying Of Life.

Guilty She Might Be. But What Human Being Was Not? There Were Things In Her Past She Needn't Be Ashamed Of, Things To Be Proud Of; She Wouldn't Surrender So Meekly To A Condemning Judgment.

Libraries Are Magical Places. There's Nothing Quite Like Strolling The Hushed Aisles, Letting Your Eye Rove Along Dimly Lit Shelves. Each Spine, Each Title, Seems To Beckon With A Promise Of Incredible Wonders, Surprises, And Adventures.