He Saw That No One Owned Anything

Wasn't Writing A Kind Of Soaring, An Achievable Form Of Flight, Of Fancy, Of The Imagination?

How Easily This Unthinking Family Love Was Forgotten.

Was Everyone Else Really As Alive As She Was?...if The Answer Was Yes, Then The World, The Social World, Was Unbearably Complicated, With Two Billion Voices, And Everyone's Thoughts Striving In Equal Importance And Everyone's Claim On Life As Intense, And Everyone Thinking They Were Unique, When No One Was.

In That Shrinking Moment He Discovered That He Had Never Hated Anyone Until Now. It Was A Feeling As Pure As Love, But Dispassionate And Icily Rational.

I Often Don't Read Reviews.