It Is Very Easy To Say That

It Looked Exhausting And Pointless, Two Things That Should Be Avoided At All Costs

The Burning Of A Book Is A Sad, Sad Sight, For Even Though A Book Is Nothing But Ink And Paper, It Feels As If The Ideas Contained In The Book Are Disappearing As The Pages Turn To Ashes And The Cover And Binding--which Is The Term For The Stitching And Glue That Holds The Pages Together--blacken And Curl As The Flames Do Their Wicked Work. When Someone Is Burning A Book, They Are Showing Utter Contempt For All Of The Thinking That Produced Its Ideas, All Of The Labor That Went Into Its Words And Sentences, And All Of The Trouble That Befell The Author . . .

The Hallway Was Lined With Numbered Doors, Odd Numbers On One Side And Even Numbers On The Other, And Large Ornamental Vases, Too Large To Hold Flowers And Too Small To Hold Spies.

Love Is Candy From A Stranger, But It's Candy You've Had Before And It Probably Won't Kill You.

It Is Not The Diamonds Or The Birds, The People Or The Potatoes, It Is Not Any Of The Nouns. The Miracle Is The Adverbs, The Way Things Are Done. It Is The Way Love Gets Done Despite Every Catastrophe.