You’re My Best Friend, Shmuel,’ He Said.

I Hope For So Much From Every Book I Read. And Time And Again, I Find Myself Disappointed. I Look Across My Bookshelves And See Hundreds Of Titles Which In My Memory Seem Merely Mediocre Or Second-rate. Only Occasionally Does A Novel Appear For Which I Feel A Lasting Passion, A Book That I Think Could In Time Become A Classic.

The People I See From My Window. In The Huts, In The Distance. They're All Dressed The Same.' 'ah, Those People,' Said Father, Nodding His Head And Smiling Slightly. 'those People...well, They're Not People At All, Bruno.' Bruno Frowned. 'they're Not?' He Asked, Unsure What Father Meant By That.

It Reminds Me Of How Grandmother Always Had The Right Costume For Me To Wear. You Wear The Right Outfit And You Feel Like The Person You're Pretending To Be.

...despite The Mayhem That Followed, Bruno Found That He Was Still Holding Shmuel's Hand In His Own And Nothing In The World Would Have Persuaded Him To Let Go.

I Was A Very Quiet Child, Quite Introverted, Really. Independent, Yes; I Didn't Need A Lot Of Supervision. Less So Than I Did When I Got Older, Maybe. But I Was A Bookish Child, Not Surprisingly. I Could Sit Quite Happily In A Corner For Hours And Entertain Myself With Books.