This is our island. It's a good island. Until the grownups come to fetch us we'll have fun.

We did everything adults would do. What went wrong?

My yesterdays walk with me. They keep step, they are gray faces that peer over my shoulder.

Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?

It wasn't until I was 37 that I grasped the great truth that you've got to write your own books and nobody else's, and then everything followed from there.

What are we? Humans? Or animals? Or savages?

The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away.