Memory Is, Of Course, A Trickster.

Never Lose Your Childish Enthusiasm And Things Will Come Your Way.

I Got The Idea That To Write Books Would Be The Best Way To Spend A Life. I Never Thought Of Anything Else That Seemed Like Half As Much Fun, Although In My Next Life I Would Like To Be An Architect, Too, So I Can Have An Easier Time Restoring Houses.

Everything I Pick Up Seems To Lure Me Away. Everything I Do In My Daily Life Begins To Feel Like Striking Wet Matches. The Need To Travel Is A Mysterious Force. A Desire To 'go' Runs Through Me Equally With An Intense Desire To 'stay' At Home. An Equal And Opposite Thermodynamic Principle. When I Travel, I Think Of Home And What It Means. At Home I'm Dreaming Of Catching Trains At Night In The Gray Light Of Old Europe, Or Pushing Open Shutters To See Florence Awaken. The Balance Just Slightly Tips In The Direction Of The Airport.

Like Fanning Through A Deck Of Cards, My Mind Flashes On The Thousand Chances, Trivial To Profound, That Converged To Re-create This Place. Any Arbitrary Turning Along The Way And I Would Be Elsewhere; I Would Be Different. Where Did The Expression "a Place In The Sun" First Come From? My Rational Thought Process Cling Always To The Idea Of Free Will, Random Event; My Blood, However, Streams Easily Along A Current Of Fate.

The World Cracks Open For Those Willing To Take A Risk.