She has that quality, does the Hudson, as I imagine all great rivers do: the deep, abiding sense that those activities what take place on shore among human beings are of the moment, passing, and aren't the stories by way of which the greater tale of this planet will, in the end, be told.

It is the greatest truth of our age: Information is not knowledge.

I have to be very careful, however, because I have no intention of providing an excuse for this behavior. It's an attempt to explain how so many women come from backgrounds where the pressure to be a good mother is so severe that if they can't do it, something really snaps.

Scientists' minds may jump around like amorous toads, but they do seem to accept such behavior in one another.

The defenders of decent society and the disciples of degeneracy are often the same people.

Still, it's an interesting technique-leaving one person behind in order to find her or him somewhere else. And in someone else.

So if it seems that some of what I'll have to say in the pages to come doesn't reflect the mellowing of age, that's only because I've never found that life and memories respond to time the way that tobacco does.