Lord, Ye Gave Me A Rare Woman,

Am I A Man? To Want You So Badly That Nothing Else Matters? To See You, And Know I Would Sacrifice Honor Or Family Or Life Itself To Lie Wi' You, Even Though Ye'd Left Me?

I Felt The Tributaries Of His Veins, Wished To Enter Into His Bloodstream, Travel There, Dissolved And Bodiless, To Take Refuge In The Thick Walled Chambers Of His Heart.

Well, I Can't Remember Not Being Able To Read. I Was Told I Could Read By Myself Very Well At The Age Of Three.

People Assume That Science Is A Very Cold Sort Of Profession, Whereas Writing Novels Is A Warm And Fuzzy Intuitive Thing. But In Fact, They Are Not At All Different.

For Where All Love Is, The Speaking Is Unnecessary