Writing is the only way I have to explain my own life to myself. - Pat Conroy

Here is what The Boo loved more than The Citadel—nothing, nothing on this Earth. The sun rose on Lesesne Gate and it set on the marshes of the Ashley River and its main job was to keep the parade grounds green. He once told me that a cadet was nothing but a bum, like you, Conroy. But a Corps of Cadets was the most beautiful thing in the world. In World War II, he led an artillery unit during the Battle of the Bulge and he once told me, "The Germans hated to see me and my boys catch em in the open." It is my own personal belief that The Boo's own voice was more frightening to the Germans than the artillery fire he was directing toward them.

There were these deep, serious thoughts I sometimes had to drive from my head like flocks of pesky starlings. I was too pragmatic and impatient to let such thoughts flog me into impotence, yet I sincerely needed a working philosophy on which to hang my hat. After the Halloween trip, one began to form and crystallize without my knowledge, and when I finally acknowledged its presence, it was already a part of me: simply, that life was good, but it was hard; we would prepare to meet it head on, but we would enjoy the preparation.

I have yet to meet an English teacher who assigned a book to damage a kid.