So Long As Readers Keep Reading And

Writing Is Showbusiness For Shy People. That's How I See It.

Hope For The Best, Plan For The Worst.

He Picked Up The Wrench And Broke The Guy’s Wrist With It, One, And Then The Other Wrist, Two, And Turned Back And Did The Same To The Guy Who Had Held The Hammer, Three, Four. The Two Men Were Somebody’s Weapons, Consciously Deployed, And No Soldier Left An Enemy’s Abandoned Ordnance On The Field In Working Order. The Doctor’s Wife Was Watching From The Cabin Door, All Kinds Of Terror In Her Face. "what?" Reacher Asked Her.

This Was Like July 13th, 1943, The Pivotal Day Of The Battle Of The Kursk. We Were Like Alexander Vasilevsky, The Soviet General. If We Attacked Now, This Minute, We Had To Keep On And On Attacking Until The Enemy Was Run Off His Feet And The War Was Won. If We Bogged Down Or Paused For Breath Even For A Second, We Would Be Overrun Again.

I'd Never Believed In Luck. Never Had Any Cause To. Never Relied On It, Because I Never Could.