A Bad Workman Blames His Tools.

Will You Look Into My Eyes And Tell Me That You Love Me Now?

Why, He Wondered, Should He Remember Her Suddenly, On Such A Day, Watching The Rain Falling On The Apple Trees?

I Have No Talent For Making New Friends, But Oh Such Genius For Fidelity To Old Ones.

He Was Like Someone Sleeping Who Woke Suddenly And Found The World...all The Beauty Of It, And The Sadness Too. The Hunger And The Thirst. Everything He Had Never Thought About Or Known Was There Before Him, And Magnified Into One Person Who By Chance, Or Fate--call It What You Will--happened To Be Me.

[referring To The Birds:] Nat Listened To The Tearing Sound Of Splintering Wood, And Wondered How Many Million Years Of Memory Were Stored In Those Little Brains, Behind The Stabbing Beaks, The Piercing Eyes, Now Giving Them This Instinct To Destroy Mankind With All The Deft Precision Of Machines.