A good writer of history is a guy who is suspicious.
Nothing is as far away as one minute ago.
Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.
Death is as casual and often as unexpected as birth. It is as difficult to define grief as joy. Each is finite. Each will fade.
Watching your daughter being collected by her date feels like handing over a million dollar Stradivarius to a gorilla.
A reporter meets interesting people. If he endures, he will get to know princes and presidents, popes and paupers, prostitutes and panderers. And always, in the back of his head, there will be a dozen men and women he will never meet. And always, he will feel the poorer for it.