Chapter 71
One day God decided he would visit the earth. Strolling down the road, God encountered a sobbing man. “Why are you crying, my son?”
The man said, “God, I am blind.” So God touched him and the man could see and he was happy.
As God walked farther he met another crying man and asked, “Why are you crying, my son?”
The man said, “God, I am crippled.” So God touched him and the man could walk and he was happy.
Farther down the road God met yet a third man crying and asked, “Why are you crying, my son?”
The man said, “God, I’m a writer.” And God sat down and cried with him.
—Gerald Ochs Davis, Sr.
Fifty Years in Publishing
Nobody ever committed suicide while reading a good book, but many have tried while trying to write one.
—Robert Byrne
Terry was looking down at the pilled cuff of her sweater when she saw Roberta approaching. Roberta had an even sadder look than usual on her plain face. Terry was not surprised. Business at The Bookstall had dropped off a lot over the summer, when any West Sider with disposable income uses it to get out of Manhattan on the weekends. But now, with Christmas coming, business had not picked up, probably because of the superstore that had planted itself on twenty thousand square feet just two downtown blocks away.
Roberta
