We Should Have Just Killed Him, That's

The Summer Stretched Out The Daylight As If On A Rack. Each Moment Was Drawn Out Until Its Anatomy Collapsed. Time Broke Down. The Day Progressed In An Endless Sequence Of Dead Moments.

I'll Tell You, I've Never Particularly Been A Trek Person. I Feel About Trek The Way One Feels About Known, Vaguely Liked, But Rather Distant Members Of One's Family.

...where's The Skill In Being A Hero If You Were Always Destined To Do It?

Old Stories Would Tell How Weavers Would Kill Each Other Over Aesthetic Disagreements, Such As Whether It Was Prettier To Destroy An Army Of A Thousand Men Or To Leave It Be, Or Whether A Particular Dandelion Should Or Should Not Be Plucked. For A Weaver, To Think Was To Think Aesthetically. To Act - To Weave - Was To Bring About More Pleasing Patterns. They Did Not Eat Physical Food: They Seemed To Subsist On The Appreciation Of Beauty.

I Remember Vividly What It's Like To Read As A 10-year-old - That Passionate Inhabiting Of A Book.