Within, Walls Continued Upright, Bricks Met Neatly,

I Wonder If I Could Eat A Child If I Had The Chance.' 'i Doubt If I Could Cook One,' Said Constance.

All I Could Think Of When I Got A Look At The Place From The Outside Was What Fun It Would Be To Stand Out There And Watch It Burn Down.

I Came To Believe That Being A Private Detective Was The Work I Was Meant To Do.

The First Book Is The Book You Have To Write To Get Back At Your Parents; The Book You Always Had In You. Once You Get That Out Of Your Way, You Can Start Writing Books.

It Was One Of Those Winter Days That Suddenly Dream Of Spring, When The Sky Is Blue And Soft And Clear, And The Wind Has Dropped Its Voice And Whispers Instead Of Screaming, And The Sun Is Out And The Trees Look Surprised, And Over Everything There Is The Faintest, Palest Tint Of Green.