To Be Honest, The Only Thing I

Aid Workers, When Handing Out Food To Starving People, Quickly Learn That The People Fighting For It At The Front Are The People Who Need It Least. It's The People Sitting Quietly At The Back, Too Weak To Fight, Who Need It The Most. And So Too With Tragedy.

I Turned Down All The Requests For The Rights To The Books, For Years, Mostly Because They Wanted The Rights To The Characters, And To Turn It Into A Tv Series. This Would Have Allowed Them To Do Anything They Wanted With The Characters, And That Just Wasn't An Option For Me.

What Haunted People Even, Perhaps Especially, On Their Deathbed? What Chased Them, Tortured Them And Brought Some Of Them To Their Knees? And [he] Thought He Had The Answer. Regret. Regret For Things Said, Things Done, And Things Not Done. Regret For The People They Might Have Been. And Failed To Be.

The Question That Haunted Every Investigation Was 'why'.

I'm Just Like This. I Have No Talent For Choosing My Battles. Life Seems, Strangely, Like A Battle To Me. The Whole Thing.