Like A Lot Of People Whose Children

Once More, This Is Love: It Rings And You Open Up Unless It Looks Like An Ax Murderer.

If You Feel . . . That Well-read People Are Less Likely To Be Evil, And A World Full Of People Sitting Quietly With Good Books In Their Hands Is Preferable To World Filled With Schisms And Sirens And Other Noisy And Troublesome Things, Then Every Time You Enter A Library You Might Say To Yourself, 'the World Is Quiet Here,' As A Sort Of Pledge Proclaiming Reading To Be The Greater Good.

I Think I’ve Always Believed That There Is One Person In The Universe Who You’re Truly Meant For–for Whom You Are Truly Meant–and The Fact That Sometimes There Are Two Or Even More People On The Earth You Can Fall In Love With Really Bothers Me. It Suggests That If You Work Hard You Can Be Meant For Anyone.

There Are Two Types Of Panicking: Standing Still And Not Saying A Word, And Leaping All Over The Place Babbling Anything That Comes Into Your Head.

Even The Best Plans Can Change If There's An Accident.