Why Do Writers, Say, Give Up A

It Is Exciting To Write About The Present Once One Gets Beyond The Trivia Of The Moment. As A Time To Live In, As A Time To Think About, The Present Is Intriguing.

I Think If Something Is Worth Doing, It's Worth Doing Well. And Worth Thinking About It As Well.

Every Object Strives For Its Proper Place. A Book Seeks To Be Near Its Truest Admirer. Just As This Helpless Moth Seeks To Be Near The Candle That Infatuates Him.

But I Too Hate Long Books: The Better, The Worse. If They're Bad They Merely Make Me Pant With The Effort Of Holding Them Up For A Few Minutes. But If They're Good, I Turn Into A Social Moron For Days, Refusing To Go Out Of My Room, Scowling And Growling At Interruptions, Ignoring Weddings And Funerals, And Making Enemies Out Of Friends. I Still Bear The Scars Of Middlemarch.

All Over India, All Over The World, As The Sun Or The Shadow Of Darkness Moves From East To West, The Call To Prayer Moves With It, And People Kneel Down In A Wave To Pray To God. Five Waves Each Day - One For Each Namaaz - Ripple Across The Globe From Longitude To Longitude. The Component Elements Change Direction, Like Iron Filings Near A Magnet - Towards The House Of God In Mecca.