If The Workers Took A Notion They

All The World Is Made Of Music. We Are All Strings On A Lyre. We Resonate. We Sing Together.

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

Was There Any Human Urge More Pitiful-or More Intense- Than Wanting Another Chance At Something?

Don't Mourn, Organise

The Best Way To Get Even With Anyone Is To Put Them In The Rearview Mirror On Your Way To Something Better.