Thinking Of Nothing. Trying To Think Of

The Stretch Of Years Leaves None Unmarked: The Blissful Sense Of Youthful Invincibility Peels Away And Responsibility Brings Its Weight To Bear.

My Fingers Positively Itched To Drift At Length Along Their Spines, To Arrive At One Whose Lure I Could Not Pass, To Pluck It Down, To Inch It Open, Then To Close My Eyes And Inhale The Soul-sparking Scent Of Old And Literate Dust.

I Am Not A Storyteller . . . Not Like The Others. I Only Have One Tale To Tell.

Thinking Of Nothing. Trying To Think Of Nothing. Thinking Of Everything.

...she's Understood The Power Of Stories. Their Magical Ability To Refill The Wounded Part Of People.