People Never Seemed To Notice That, By

My Will Can Control Anything That’s Empty.

He Wanted To Be Loved For Being Just What He Was. In This Community Of Yskalnari There Was Harmony, But No Love. He No Longer Wanted To Be The Greatest, Strongest Or Cleverest. He Had Left All That Far Behind. He Longed To Be Loved Just As He Was, Good Or Bad, Handsome Or Ugly, Clever Or Stupid, With All His Faults - Or Possibly Because Of Them. But What Was He Actually? He No Longer Knew. So Much Have Been Given To Him In Fantastica, And Now, Among All These Gifts And Powers, He Could No Longer Find Himself.

Those Who Still Think That Listening Isn’t An Art Should See If They Can Do It Half As Well.

One May Enter The Literary Parlor Via Just About Any Door, Be It The Prison Door, The Madhouse Door, Or The Brothel Door. There Is But One Door One May Not Enter It Through, Which Is The Child Room Door. The Critics Will Never Forgive You Such. The Great Rudyard Kipling Is One Of A Number Of People To Have Suffered From This. I Keep Wondering To Myself What This Peculiar Contempt Towards Anything Related To Childhood Is All About.

At Certain Junctures In The Course Of Existence, Unique Moments Occur When Everyone And Everything, Even The Most Distant Stars, Combine To Bring About Something That Could Not Have Happened Before And Will Never Happen Again. Few People Know How To Take Advantage Of These Critical Moments, Unfortunately, And They Often Pass Unnoticed. When Someone Does Recognize Them, However, Great Things Happen In The World.