All We Need To Do,

Happy Is What You Realize You Are A Fraction Of A Second Before It's Too Late.

We're Well Past The End Of The Century When Time, For The First Time, Curved, Bent, Slipped, Flash Forwarded, And Flashed Back Yet Still Kept Rolling Along. We Know It All Now, With Our Thoughts Traveling At The Speed Of A Tweet, Our 140 Characters In Search Of A Paragraph. We're Post-history. We're Post-mystery.

All We Are Is Eyes Looking For The Unbroken Or The Edges Where The Broken Bits Might Fit Each Other.

You Never Know If You're A Writer. You Can't Trust It. If You Woke Up And Said, "i'm A Writer," It Would Be Gone. You Wouldn't See Anything For Miles - Even The Dust Would Be Running Away.

[property] Is A Brilliant, Chillingly Revelatory Piece Of Fiction, A Work Of Craft, Economy And Such Good Merciless Observation-one Of Those Rare, Crucial Novels Illuminating A History We Think We Know And Understand So That After We've Read It We'll Never Forget Its Truths.