There is only one thing I fear now-love. For I have seen it and I have felt it and I know that it is love, not death, that undoes us.

Yeah. Sure. My brother's dead. My mother's insame. Hey, let's have a crepe.

The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.

Becuse God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.

I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and voices and places and people.

What I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks. Books. Not just one or two dozen, but hundreds of them. In crates. In piles on the floor. In bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling and lined the entire room. I turned around and around in a slow circle, feeling as if I'd just stumbled into Ali Baba's cave. I was breathless, close to tears, and positively dizzy with greed.

Words fail me sometimes. I have read most every word in the Webster’s International Dictionary of the English Language, but I still have trouble making them come when I want them to. Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get – a cold sick feeling deep down inside – when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don’t want it to, but you can’t stop it. And you know you will never be the same again.