It happened fast. Thirty-two minutes for one world to die, another to be born.

A baby was a fact. It was a being with a mind and a nature, and you could feel about it any way you liked, but a baby wouldn't care. Just by existing, it demanded that you believe in a future: the future it would crawl in, walk in, live in. A baby was a piece of time; it was a promise you made that the world made back to you.

When you write, you take the ball and you hold it up to the light and you turn it slowly, and let people draw their own conclusions. And try to bring empathy to all sides of the equation.

It happened fast. Thirty-two minutes for one world to die, another to be born.

So perhaps the greatest worry of all was that one day you would realize that all the worries of your life amounted to one thing: the desire to just stop worrying.

One of the great themes in American literature is the individual's confrontation with the vast open spaces of the continent.

The military was all about hierarchies, who urinated highest on the hydrant