Life Was A Storm To Wander Through.

I've Been Reading A Lot Lately About Indian Captives. One Woman Who Had Been Captured By The Indians And Made A Squaw Was Resentful When She Was Rescued Because She'd Found That There Was A Lot More Work To Do As The Wife Of A White Man.

Honesty Is As Rare As A Man Without Self-pity.

I Admire The Attention Other Writers Can Give To The World We're Walking In.

The Blog Is Also A Way To Continue To Register What I See And Hear In A Day - No Matter What The Form. In Fact, My Blog Is A Complete Mixture Of Forms.

Books Are Not Men And Yet They Are Alive. They Are Man's Memory And His Aspiration, The Link Between His Present And His Past, The Tools He Builds With.