Whatever Capacity She Possesses To Supernaturally Beguile

Why'd You Want To Sing About Sad Things?" Candy Had Asked Him. "because Any Fool Can Be Happy," He'd Said To Her. "it Takes A Man With Real Heart" —he'd Made A Fist And Laid It Against His Chest— "to Make Beauty Out Of The Stuff That Makes Us Weep.

Zombies Are The Liberal Nightmare. Here You Have The Masses, Whom You Would Love To Love, Appearing At Your Front Door With Their Faces Falling Off; And You're Trying To Be As Humane As You Possibly Can, But They Are, After All, Eating The Cat. And The Fear Of Mass Activity, Of Mindlessness On A National Scale, Underlies My Fear Of Zombies.

I Don't Take Accusations Of Selling Out Lightly.

Of All The Rash And Midnight Promises Made In The Name Of Love, None, Boone Now Knew, Was More Certain To Be Broken Than "i'll Never Leave You.

We Have Great Cities To Visit: New York And Washington, Paris And London; And Further East, And Older Than Any Of These, The Legendary City Of Samarkand, Whose Crumbling Palaces And Mosques Still Welcome Travelers On The Silk Road. Weary Of Cities? Then We’ll Take To The Wilds. To The Islands Of Hawaii And The Mountains Of Japan, To Forests Where Civil War Dead Still Lie, And Stretches Of Sea No Mariner Ever Crossed. They All Have Their Poetry: The Glittering Cities And The Ruined, The Watery Wastes And The Dusty; I Want To Show You Them All. I Want To Show You Everything.