Teaching, Real Teaching, Is - Or Ought

There Is Something Beautiful About All Scars Of Whatever Nature. A Scar Means The Hurt Is Over, The Wound Is Closed And Healed, Done With.

I First Became Fascinated With The Sears Catalogue Because All The People In Its Pages Were Perfect. Nearly Everybody I Knew Had Something Missing, A Finger Cut Off, A Toe Split, An Ear Half-chewed Away, An Eye Clouded With Blindness From A Glancing Fence Staple. And If They Didn't Have Something Missing, They Were Carrying Scars From Barbed Wire, Or Knives, Or Fishhooks. But The People In The Catalogue Had No Such Hurts. They Were Not Only Whole, Had All Their Arms And Legs And Eyes On Their Unscarred Bodies, But They Were Also Beautiful.

There Ought To Be A Law Against The Sun Rising And Setting For You In Somebody Else.

The Truth Of The Matter Was Stories Was Everything And Everything Was Stories. Everybody Told Stories. It Was A Way Of Saying Who They Were In The World. It Was Their Understanding Of Themselves. It Was Letting Themselves Know How They Believed The World Worked, The Right Way And The Way That Was Not So Right.

If You Wait Until You Got Time To Write A Novel, Or Time To Write A Story, Or Time To Read The Hundred Thousands Of Books You Should Have Already Read - If You Wait For The Time, You Will Never Do It. ‘cause There Ain’t No Time; World Don’t Want You To Do That. World Wants You To Go To The Zoo And Eat Cotton Candy, Preferably Seven Days A Week.