They Say Everyone Needs Something To Love.

My Fingers Positively Itched To Drift At Length Along Their Spines, To Arrive At One Whose Lure I Could Not Pass, To Pluck It Down, To Inch It Open, Then To Close My Eyes And Inhale The Soul-sparking Scent Of Old And Literate Dust.

Cassandra Wondered At The Mind's Cruel Ability To Toss Up Flecks Of The Past. Why, As She Neared Her Life's End, Her Grandmother's Head Should Ring With The Voices Of People Long Since Gone. Was It Always This Way? Did Those With Passage Booked On Death's Silent Ship Always Scan The Dock For Faces Of The Long-departed?

People Might Think Writing Is A Hard Business, But It's Nowhere Near Acting.

It Didn't Occur To Him That She Might Have Chosen To Remain This Way. That Where He Saw Reserve And Loneliness, Cassandra Saw Self-preservation And The Knowledge That It Was Safer When One Had Less To Lose.

I'd Pretty Much Given Up Hope Of Being Published, So I Just Wrote The Book I Wanted To Read.