Memory Is The Happiness Of Being Alone.

Always In The Dream, It Seemed As If There Were A Destination: A Something--he Could Not Grasp What-that Lay Beyond The Place Where The Thickness Of Snow Brought The Sled To A Stop. He Was Left, Upon Awakening, With The Feeling That He Wanted, Even Somehow Needed, To Reach The Something That Waited In The Distance. The Feeling That It Was Good. That It Was Welcoming. That It Was Significant. But He Did Not Know How To Get There.

It Is Very Risky. But Each Time A Child Opens A Book, He Pushes Open The Gate That Separates Him From Elsewhere.

There Is Something About That Moment, When Literature Becomes Accessible, And A Door Of The World Opens.

So Many Of My Books, I Don't Want To Say They Have Messages, But They Have Important Things To Say.

I Don't Read Young Adult Or Children's Books, Now That My Grandchildren Are Beyond The Age Of My Reading To Them. I Read Reviews, And So I'm Aware Of What's Out There. But I Tend Not To Read The Books.