They Say The Lord's Day Is A

When You're Writing Non-fiction, You Go As Far As You Can Go, And Then Ethically You Have To Stop. You Can't Go. You Can't Suppose. You Can't Imagine. And I Think There's Something In Human Nature That Wants To Finish The Story.

All The Times, All The Very Many Times, I Had Been Forced To Thwart And Stifle My Own Nature Seemed To Gather Together Then, In That Hot And Dismal Corridor. I Heard A Rushing Sound In My Head And Felt A Pressure In My Breast, Like Floodwaters Rising Behind A Flimsy Dike. Before I Knew I Did It, The Soup Bowl Was Rising In My Hand As If Elevated By Some Supernatural Force. Then, Its Yellow-gray Contents Were Running Down The Nurse's Pudgy Face.

Writing Is Like Bricklaying; You Put Down One Word After Another. Sometimes The Wall Goes Up Straight And True And Sometimes It Doesn't And You Have To Push It Down And Start Again, But You Don't Stop; It's Your Trade.

I Think That You Can Honour The Sacrifices Of A Common Soldier Without Glorifying War.

And At This Moment In History, Our Core Value Happens To Be The Raw, Aching Truth Of The Human Predicament. It May Also Be The Only Belief That Can Save Us As A Species. A Species That Will Continue To Find Comfort And Delight In The Companionship Of Animals, The Miracle Of Birds, The Colours Of The Corals And The Majesty Of The Forests. We Are In It Together, On This Blue Spinning Marble In The Cold And Silent Void. And We Must Act On That Belief, If We Are Going To Be Able To Continue To Live A Good Life Here, In This Beautiful And Fragile Country, On This Lovely Planet, Our Only Home.