In the taxi home, the Indian driver, finding that I'm acquainted with his homeland, starts to talk endlessly about the Himalayas, about how much he misses it, how he can't wait to return and see his family. “I went to Ohio, to see the mountains there,” he says, “but they just weren't the same.”
I read the works of British writers now and then, but they just aren't the same.
15 posted on 03/28/2005 9:42:06 AM PST by Old Professer
(As darkness is the absence of light, evil is the absence of good; innocence is blind.)