To Know A Man's Library Is, In

I Do Believe That Our Modern English Usage Has Become Way Too Clipped And Austere. I Have Been Reading Excerpts From The Journals Of 18th-century Seafarers Lately, And Even The Lowliest Press-ganged Deck-swabber Turns A Finer Phrase Than I Do Most Days.

Write What You Know. Every Guide For The Aspiring Author Advises This. Because I Live In A Long-settled Rural Place, I Know Certain Things. I Know The Feel Of A Newborn Lamb's Damp, Tight-curled Fleece And The Sharp Sound A Well-bucket Chain Makes As It Scrapes On Stone. But More Than These Material Things, I Know The Feelings That Flourish In Small Communities. And I Know Other Kinds Of Emotional Truths That I Believe Apply Across The Centuries.

Despair Is A Cavern Beneath Our Feet And We Teeter On Its Very Brink.

I Borrowed His Brightness And Used It To See My Way, And Then Gradually, From The Habit Of Looking At The World As He Illuminated It, The Light In My Own Mind Rekindled.

And When I'd Be Reporting In Israel, Palestinians Would Say, The Jews They're Not Like Us, And The Jews Would Say The Same Things About The Palestinians, They Don't Want What We Want. And I Never Bought It As A Reporter And I Don't Buy It As A Novelist. I Think, You Know, The Sound Of Somebody Crying For Their Lost Child Sounds The Same.