Magic Is Older Than Writing. So Nobody

Janie Looked Down On Him And Felt A Self-crushing Love. So Her Soul Crawled Out From Its Hiding Place.

Perhaps, It Is Just As Well To Be Rash And Foolish For A While. If Writers Were Too Wise, Perhaps No Books Would Be Written At All. It Might Be Better To Ask Yourself "why?" Afterwards Than Before. Anyway, The Force From Somewhere In Space Which Commands You To Write In The First Place, Gives You No Choice. You Take Up The Pen When You Are Told, And Write What Is Commanded. There Is No Agony Like Bearing An Untold Story Inside You.

I Do Not Weep At The World I Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

The Sun Had Become A Light Yellow Yolk And Was Walking With Red Legs Across The Sky.

I Don't Know Any More About The Future Than You Do. I Hope That It Will Be Full Of Work, Because I Have Come To Know By Experience That Work Is The Nearest Thing To Happiness That I Can Find. . . I Want A Busy Life, A Just Mind And A Timely Death.