I Have Some Other Novels I Want

Time Is Different For A Tree Than For A Man. Sun And Soil And Water, These Are The Things A Weirwood Understands, Not Days And Years And Centuries. For Men, Time Is A River. We Are Trapped In Its Flow, Hurtling From Past To Present, Always In The Same Direction. The Lives Of Trees Are Different. They Root And Grow And Die In One Place, And That River Does Not Move Them. The Oak Is The Acorn, The Acorn Is The Oak.

It Was That White Cloak That Soiled Me, Not The Other Way Around.

Eat Your Heart Out, Rowling. Maybe You Have Billions Of Dollars And My Hugo, But You Don't Have Readers Like These.

Some Gave Me Soft Words And Some Blunt, Some Made Excuses, Some Promises, Some Only Lied. In The End Words Are Just Wind.

I Prefer To Work With Grey Characters Rather Than Black And White.