Reading Groups, Readings, Breakdowns Of Book Sales

A Person Is, Among All Else, A Material Thing, Easily Torn And Not Easily Mended.

Not Everything People Did Could Be In A Correct, Logical Order, Especially When They Were Alone.

In A Story You Only Had To Wish, You Only Had To Write It Down And You Could Have The World...it Seemed So Obvious Now That It Was Too Late: A Story Was A Form Of Telepathy. By Means Of Inking Symbols Onto A Page, She Was Able To Send Thoughts And Feelings From Her Mind To Her Reader's. It Was A Magical Process, So Commonplace That No One Stopped To Wonder At It. Reading A Sentence And Understanding It Were The Same Thing; As With The Crooking Of A Finger, Nothing Lay Between Them. There Was No Gap During Which The Symbols Were Unraveled.

He Had Never Before Felt So Self-consciously Young, Nor Experienced Such Appetite, Such Impatience For The Story To Begin.

I'm Quite Good At Not Writing.