The Humble Were The Elect Of God.

I Will Draw You Back To Me. You Shall See. By A Chain Of Stars.

If They Had Said My Writing Wasn't Good Enough, Fair Enough, That's An Opinion. But To Say It's Too Complex Is To Insult The Intelligence Of The So-called Young.

Hope Is A Punishable Offense. The Verdict Is Always Death; One More Death Of The Heart.

I Simply Write What I Want, Wish, Long To Write.... The State Of Human Life And The God Or Demon Within. The Constant Internal War That Being Alive Can Conjure.

The Bitterness Of Joy Lies In The Knowledge That Is Cannot Last. Nor Should Joy Last Beyond A Certain Season, For, After That Season, Even Joy Would Become Merely Habit.