The dead man is on the trolley and the woman collapses across his chest. That's what the ghouls want a shufti at, like at that Princess Diana's funeral, they want to scrutinise those who really knew her, to drink the misery out of their faces.

She found a dark satisfaction in pain—because that pain came from him.

It is not enough to render things equal to the will, that they are equal or alike in themselves.

The Pacific is my home ocean; I knew it first, grew up on its shore, collected marine animals along the coast. I know its moods, its color, its nature.

Written By John Steinbeck

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