No One Has The Right To Live

If You Want To Write Anything That Works, You Have To Go With The Grain Of Your Talent, Not Against It. If Your Talent Is Inert And Sullen In The Face Of Business Or Politics...but Takes Fire At The Thought Of Ghosts And Vampires And Witches And Demons Then Feed The Flames, Feed The Flames.

She Found Out That Having Something To Do Prevented You From Feeling Seasick, And That Even A Job Like Scrubbing A Deck Could Be Satisfying, If It Was Done In A Seamanlike Way. She Was Very Taken With This Notion, And Later On She Folded The Blankets On Her Bunk In A Seamanlike Way, And Put Her Possessions In The Closet In A Seamanlike Way, And Used 'stow' Instead Of 'tidy' For The Process Of Doing So. After Two Days At Sea, Lyra Decided That This Was The Life For Her.

She Had Asked: What Is He? A Friend Or An Enemy? The Alethiometer Answered: He Is A Murderer. When She Saw The Answer, She Relaxed At Once. He Could Find Food, And Show Her How To Reach Oxford, And Those Were Powers That Were Useful, But He Might Still Have Been Untrustworthy Or Cowardly. A Murderer Was A Worthy Companion. She Felt As Safe With Him As She'd Done With Iorek Byrnison The Armoured Bear.

No One Has The Right To Live Without Being Shocked.

'thou Shalt Not' Might Reach The Head, But It Takes 'once Upon A Time' To Reach The Heart.