Her Laughter Was A Shiny Thing, Like

I Still Write In Long Hand. I Type Like A Chimpanzee.

Teach Them The Quiet Words Of Kindness, To Live Beyond Themselves. Urge Them Toward Excellence, Drive Them Toward Gentleness, Pull Them Deep Into Yourself, Pull Them Upward Toward Manhood, But Softly Like An Angel Arranging Clouds. Let Your Spirit Move Through Them Softly.

When I Was 5 Years Old, My Mother Read Me 'gone With The Wind' At Night, Before I Went To Bed. I Remember Her Reading Almost All Year.

Good Writing ... Involves The Agony Of Turning Profoundly Difficult Thoughts Into Lucid Form, Then Forcing Them Into The Tight-fitting Uniform Of Language, Making Them Visible And Clear.

It's Impossible To Explain To A Yankee What `tacky' Is. They Simply Have No Word For It Up North, But My God, Do They Ever Need One.