One More Lesson Like That And I

He Felt That He Was Still Groping In The Dark; He Had Chosen His Path But Kept Looking Back, Wondering Whether He Had Misread The Signs, Whether He Should Not Have Taken The Other Way.

It Was As Though They Had Been Plunged Into A Fabulous Dream. This, Thought Harry, Was Surely The Only Way To Travel - Past Swirls And Turrets Of Snowy Cloud, In A Car Full Of Hot, Bright Sunlight, With A Fat Pack Of Toffees In The Glove Compartment.

The First Story I Finished Was When I Was Six Years Old.

Fame Is A Fickle Friend, Harry. Celebrity Is As Celebrity Does. Remember That.

Strange How Short-sighted Being Invisible Can Make You.