But the animation has become very good, and I think that a movie is not a book, and a book is not a movie.

But the animation has become very good, and I think that a movie is not a book, and a book is not a movie.

It is coincidence, I decide, and I am getting old and batty, thinking the universe revolves around me.

We survive until, by sheer stamina, we escape into the dim innocence of our own adulthood and its forgetfulness.

Freedom within any kind of social structure - the whole issue of exactly what the human animal is - is an ongoing preoccupation of mine. And I certainly don't think I've come to the end of that exploration, and with any luck, I never will. But I'm very curious about exactly what kind of beast we are. We're so complicated.

He must love me, i thought, amazed. A faint whiff of nausea hit me at seeing pain as proof of love, but it seemed true. Unavoidable.

Giving Papa time to think, as Arty put it, was like pumping random rounds into a fireworks factory. The odds favored dramatic results.