Life Is Hard . .

You Going To Be A Scientist When You Grow Up?” That Sort Of Question Deserved A Blank Stare, Which It Got.

On A Cold, Fretful Afternoon In Early October, 1872, A Hansom Cab Drew Up Outside The Offices Of Lockhart And Selby, Shipping Agents, In The Financial Heart Of London, And A Young Girl Got Out And Paid The Driver. She Was A Person Of Sixteen Or So--alone, And Uncommonly Pretty. She Was Slender And Pale, And Dressed In Mourning, With A Black Bonnet Under Which She Tucked Back A Straying Twist Of Blond Hair That The Wind Had Teased Loose. She Had Unusually Dark Brown Eyes For One So Fair. Her Name Was Sally Lockhart; And Within Fifteen Minutes, She Was Going To Kill A Man.

You Cannot Change What You Are, Only What You Do.

There Will Be Days When The Stuff Is Not Flowing Freely. What You Do Then Is Make It Up!

I'm For Open-mindedness And Tolerance. I'm Against Any Form Of Fanaticism, Fundamentalism Or Zealotry, And This Certainty Of 'we Have The Truth.' The Truth Is Far Too Large And Complex. Nobody Has The Truth.