Books like In Cold Blood

NIGHT. No one was praying for the night to pass quickly. The stars were but sparks of the immense conflagration that was consuming us. Were this conflagration to be extinguished one day, nothing would be left in the sky but extinct stars and unseeing eyes.

With all but a few lights extinguished and all shades pulled and curtains drawn, the great liner slid forward through the sea, at times in fog, at times under a lacework of stars. But even in darkness, in moonlight and mist, the ship stood out. At one o’clock in the morning, Friday, May 7, the officers of a New York–bound vessel spotted the Lusitania and recognized it immediately as it passed some two miles off. “You could see the shape of the four funnels,” said the captain, Thomas M. Taylor; “she was the only ship with four funnels.”

From: Steve JobsTo: Steve JobsSubject:Date: September 2, 2010, 11:08 p.m.I grow little of the food I eat, and of the little I do grow I did not breed or perfect the seeds.I do not make any of my own clothing.I speak a language I did not invent or refine.I did not discover the mathematics I use.I am protected by freedoms and laws I did not conceive of or legislate, and do not enforce or adjudicate.I am moved by music I did not create myself.When I needed medical attention, I was helpless to help myself survive.I did not invent the transistor, the microprocessor, object oriented programming, or most of the technology I work with.I love and admire my species, living and dead, and am totally dependent on them for my life and well being.Sent from my iPad

As he watched this beautiful, still world, Louie played with a thought that had come to him before. He had thought it as he had watched hunting seabirds, marveling at their ability to adjust their dives to compensate for the refraction of light in water. He had thought it as he had considered the pleasing geometry of the sharks, their gradation of color, their slide through the sea. He even recalled the thought coming to him in his youth, when he had lain on the roof of the cabin at the Cahuilla Indian Reservation, looking up from Zane Grey to watch night settling over the earth. Such beauty, he thought, was too perfect to have come about by mere chance. That day in the center of the Pacific was, to him, a gift crafted deliberately, compassionately, for him and Phil.

I loved my mother because I didn’t know I had a choice. I had to love her.

I reminded the men in the audience that being a father meant more than fathering a child; that even those of us who were physically present in the home are often emotionally absent; that precisely because many of us didn’t have fathers in the house we have to redouble our efforts to break the cycle; and that if we want to pass on high expectations to our children, we have to have higher expectations for ourselves.