Mr. McGregor’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t he? Quite the Darth Vader of children’s literature.
I would so hate to be a first-person character! Always on your guard, always having people read your thoughts!
If the real world were a book, it would never find a publisher. Overlong, detailed to the point of distraction-and ultimately, without a major resolution.
Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It’s the crack cocaine of the literary world.
Everything comes to an end. A good bottle of wine, a summer’s day, a long-running sitcom, one’s life, and eventually our species. The question for many of us is not that everything will come to an end but when. And can we do anything vaguely useful until it does?
Death doesn’t care about personalities – he’s more interested in meeting quotas.
Death, I had discovered long ago, was available in varying flavors, and none of them particularly palatable.
Okay, this is the wisdom. First, time spent on reconnaissanse is never wasted. Second, almost anything can be improved with the addition of bacon. And finally, there is no problem on Earth that can’t be ameliorated by a hot bath and a cup of tea.