A Child Understands Fear, And The Hurt

Peace. The Upland Serenity Of High Altitude, The Openness Of Grassland Without Indigenous Bush Or Trees; The Greening, Yellowing Or Silver-browning That Prevailed, According To Season.

The Function Of A Writer Is To Make Sense Of Life. It Is Such A Mystery, It Changes All The Time, Like The Light.

The Country Of The Tourist Pamphlet Always Is Another Country, An Embarrassing Abstraction Of The Desirable That, Thank God, Does Not Exist On This Planet, Where There Are Always Ants And Bad Smells And Empty Coca-cola Bottles To Keep The Grubby Finger-print Of Reality Upon The Beautiful.

Disaster Is Private, In Its Way, As Love Is.

Well, You Know, In The Fundamentalist Milieu Of The Afrikaners, There Was A Sense That They Were A Chosen People, That They Were Bringing Civilization To The Blacks.