The Real Beauty In Life Is That

The Stars Looked Like Nail Heads In The Sky--pull A Few Of Them Out And The Darkness Would Fall.

Whenever Summer Rolls Around I Begin To Realize That I'm A Complete And Utter Book Snob. In Relation To Reading, I Have Absolutely No Guilty Pleasures At All. No Graphic Novels. No Murder Mysteries. My Summer Read Is Really No Different From My Winter Read. I Know Many Bookshops And Magazines Would Have Me Believe That Our Summer Forays Are Different, But Literature Is Literature, And Unfortunately Snobbery Is Snobbery.

I Don't Know Of A Greater Privilege Than Being Allowed To Tell A Story, Or To Listen To A Story. They're The Only Thing We Have That Can Trump Life Itself.

The Point Of Flight. To Get Rid Of Oneself. That Was Reason Enough To Fly.

The Luxury Of Age Was The Giving Up Of Vanity.