When I Start Any Book, I Have

He Read A Lot. He Used A Lot Of Big Words. I Think Maybe Part Of What Got Him Into Trouble Was That He Did Too Much Thinking. Sometimes He Tried Too Hard To Make Sense Of The World, To Figure Out Why People Were Bad To Each Other So Often. A Couple Of Times I Tried To Tell Him It Was A Mistake To Get Too Deep Into That Kind Of Stuff, But Alex Got Stuck On Things. He Always Had To Know The Absolute Right Answer Before He Could Go On To The Next Thing.

Achieving The Summit Of A Mountain Was Tangible, Immutable, Concrete. The Incumbent Hazards Lent The Activity A Seriousness Of Purpose That Was Sorely Missing From The Rest Of My Life. I Thrilled In The Fresh Perspective That Came From The Tipping The Ordinary Plane Of Existence On End.

The Thing That Is Most Beautiful About Antarctica For Me Is The Light. It's Like No Other Light On Earth, Because The Air Is So Free Of Impurities. You Get Drugged By It, Like When You Listen To One Of Your Favorite Songs. The Light There Is A Mood-enhancing Substance.

There Is Nothing Glamorous Or Romantic About War. It's Mostly About Random Pointless Death And Misery.

He Needed His Solitude At Times, But He Wasn't A Hermit. He Did A Lot Of Socializing. Sometimes I Think It Was Like He Was Storing Up Company For The Times When He Knew Nobody Would Be Around.