Love Was As Hardwired Into The Structure

In The End--when All Else Is Dust--loyalty To Those We Love Is All We Can Carry With Us To The Grave. Faith--true Faith--was Trusting In That Love.

Words Bend Our Thinking To Infinite Paths Of Self-delusion, And The Fact That We Spend Most Of Our Mental Lives In Brain Mansions Built Of Words Means That We Lack The Objectivity Necessary To See The Terrible Distortion Of Reality Which Language Brings.

Stupidity Has A Price And It Always Gets Paid.

Luckily, Even As A Young Man Not Yet Become Himself, John Bridgens Had Two Things Besides Indecision That Kept Him From Self-destruction - Books And A Sense Of Irony.

You've Probably Heard About The Theory Of Steam-engine Time - That Even After The Steam Engine Had Been Invented, It Had To Wait Until People Were Ready To Make Use Of It. The Same Thing Happens In Literary Circles. The Truth Is, I'm Not Terribly Interested In Victorian Times; I'm Interested In Victorian Writers. I'm Interested In Most Eras Of History, But Not The Victorian Era Especially. I Was Interested In The John Franklin Expedition. I Was Interested In These Last Five Weird Years Of Dickens' Life. And I Just Have To Take The Age That Comes With All That When I Write About It.