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One summer night, out on a flat headland, all but surrounded by the waters of the bay, the horizons were remote and distant rims on the edge of space. Millions of stars blazed in darkness, and on the far shore a few lights burned in cottages. Otherwise there was no reminder of human life. My companion and I were alone with the stars: the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing planet low on the horizon. It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century, this little headland would be thronged with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they never will.
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Until we have the courage to recognize cruelty for what it is--whether its victim is human or animal--we cannot expect things to be much better in this world... We cannot have peace among men whose hearts delight in killing any living creatureevery act that glorifies or even tolerates such moronic delight in killing we set back the progress of humanity.
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The discipline of the writer is to learn to be still and listen to what his subject has to tell him.
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I am as vulnerable and fragile as it is possible to be. I am shredded to the core. I am at the point where I am stripped bare.
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Winston Churchill was not entirely British. His mother was American, making Sir Winston part Iroquois Indian.
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