Human Beings Are Millions Of Things In

There Isn't So Much To Be Afraid Of, Out There. I Can Remember Thinking It Was Funny To Find That Out, On The Last Night Of My Life; I'd Spent The Rest Of It Being Afraid Of Everything.

We Were Little Animals, Which Is Not To Imply That By The End Of The Week We Were Tearing Our Tank Tops Off; Just That, Metaphorically Speaking, We Had Begun To Sniff Each Other's Bottoms, And We Did Not Find The Odor Entirely Repellent.

And What Would Happen If We Never Read The Classics? There Comes A Point In Life, It Seems To Me, Where You Have To Decide Whether You're A Person Of Letters Or Merely Someone Who Loves Books, And I'm Beginning To See That The Book Lovers Have More Fun.

You Had To Live In Your Own Bubble. You Couldn't Force Your Way Into Someone Else's, Because Then It Wouldn't Be A Bubble Any More.

There Were About Seventy-nine Squillion People In The World, And If You Were Very Lucky, You Would End Up Being Loved By Fifteen Or Twenty Of Them.