Item: April 23, 2008. Defying the economic tides, Apple today announced a $1.05 billion profit for the second quarter and a 45% increase in revenue over the same quarter a year ago, fueled partly by a 51% increase in unit sales of Macintosh computers.

We live in a world where technological improvements can be mimicked by a competitor in weeks, not the years it once required. In services, the final competitors for an account appear so similar on the surface that a prospect must dig beneath that to make a decision.

How do people choose?

They chose the brand, as Apple is demonstrating vividly.

You know "Apple" the minute you encounter it: its groundbreaking stores, its ads, its point of purchase, its packaging, its website. You hear iPhone, iMac, iTunes. You know them not just on sight, but even before, in your mind’s eye. You can picture them: simple, engaging, clean and wonderful to look at, easy to read – and use. Indeed, that expectation becomes a prophecy; an i-anything becomes what you believe it will be.

You sometimes know you are experiencing "Microsoft," if they make their logo so large you can reach no other conclusion. But what would a Microsoft store look like? A Microsoft version of the iPod? A Microsoft phone?

Why are the these questions so hard to answer, when the same questions about Apple are so easy? Because Apple understands brand identity. Apple knows that, as the word suggests, an identity is something identifiable, and also identical every time; otherwise, it would not be an identity at all, but a collection of different masks, obscuring the company behind them.

There are colors that belong to Apple – and thousands that do not. Surfaces that belong to Apple (brushed silver) and dozens that do not. Sentiments that belong to Apple ("insanely great") and those that do not ("a commitment to excellence").

You even know what to expect from Apple’s instructions. They will appear to have been written by Hemingway: not one word more than necessary, just one true and painstakingly edited sentence after another.

Apple is managing its brand brilliantly. Every element sings in unison, a song without a weak note. The brands you trust most do that. They are predictably good at least and great at best, and their utter consistency reassures you:

I want what they have.

And in growing numbers, people want what Apple has. Out in the economic gloom you can see Macintoshes and iPhones flying, and Apple’s obsessive management of its brand deserves significant credit.

Why isn’t Barnes & Noble a more effective bookseller?

Visit your nearest store and you’ll see they have graciously provided a dozen chairs for patrons, most of them occupied. These guests/freeloaders (I don’t mean this critically, by the way; I often am slumped in one of those chairs) are clearly avid readers, and potential book buyers. Plus each person slouched in those chairs, with a few callous exceptions, realizes he or she is taking advantage of the store’s generosity. So they’re vulnerable. (I know this, too.)

And a possible silver mine.

Barnes & Noble managers should encourage their staff to notice what those browsers are reading, check for similar books online (by poaching off Amazon’s lists), and drop off the book to the guest with "I couldn’t help but notice you’re reading XXXXXXX, and thought you might enjoy this book even more."

The most callous guests still will leave bookless, of course. But enough others – responding to the natural human inclination to reciprocate (along with guilt at being caught) – will buy that book, or some other one, or maybe just the Sunday New York Times. And Barnes & Noble truly will be, as they proclaim on their signs, "booksellers."

"Heaven? Singing with Emmylou Harris."

"It’s always wrong just before it’s right."

"You don’t have to have a dramatic story. It’s all in the telling."

"It was like watching the moon fall."

"The real secret of everything is rewriting."

"Gandhi would’ve punched him."