The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God's touch - under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you've never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart.

Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.

History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.

Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?

There is an advantage to be found in most everything that happens to you, even if it is not immediately apparent.

Cripes Miss Wilcox, they're not guns,' I said. No, they're not Mattie, they're books. And a hundred times more dangerous.

I was only glad to be saved and never once thought to ask why.