We Live, We Die, We Are Remembered,

You Get Towards The End Of Life - No, Not Life Itself, But Of Something Else: The End Of Any Likelihood Of Change In That Life. You Are Allowed A Long Moment Of Pause, Time Enough To Ask The Question: What Else Have I Done Wrong?

History Isn't What Happened, History Is Just What Historians Tell Us.

Often The Grind Of Book Promotion Wearies You Of Your Own Book - Though At The Same Time This Frees You From Its Clutches.

What Happiness Is There In Just The Memory Of Happiness?

The Greatest Patriotism Is To Tell Your Country When It Is Behaving Dishonorably, Foolishly, Viciously.