Writers Are Also Sort Of Like Vultures,

She Hadn’t Meant To Get Trapped In A Conversation. That Was The Trouble With Offering Help To Old People.

I Should Never Be Left Alone With My Mind For Too Long.

We're In English Class, Which For Most Of Us Is An Excruciating Exercise In Staying Awake Through The Great Classics Of Literature. These Works - Groundbreaking, Incendiary, Timeless - Have Been Pureed By The Curriculum Monsters Into A Digestible Pabulum Of Themes And Factoids We Can Spew Back On A Test. Scoring Well On Tests Is The Sort Of Happy Thing That Gets The School District The Greenbacks They Crave. Understanding And Appreciating The Material Are Secondary.

There Are Times When One Friend Requires The Blind Faith Of Another.

Simon, Would You Still Care For Me If You Discovered I Was Not Who I Say I Am?" What Do You Mean?" I Mean Would You Still Care For Me, No Matter What You Came To Know?" What A Thing To Ponder. I Don't Know What To Say." The Answer Is No. He Does Not Need To Say It. With A Sigh, Simon Digs At The Fire With The Iron Poker. Bits Of The Charred Log Fall Away, Revealing The Angry Insides. They Flare Orange For A Moment, Then Quiet Down Again. After Three Tries, He Gives Up. I'm Afraid This Fire's Had It." I Can See A Few Embers Remaining. "no, I Think Not. If..." He Sighs, And It Says Everything.