The Idea For A Novel Is Like

Her Body Was Wrapped In Shadows Like Moth Wings, Like Rose-petals.

Andy Dufresne: 'that's The Beauty Of Music. They Can't Get That From You...haven't You Ever Felt That Way About Music?' Red: 'i Played A Mean Harmonica As A Younger Man. Lost Interest In It Though. Didn't Make Much Sense In Here.' Andy: 'here's Where It Makes The Most Sense. You Need It So You Don't Forget.' Red: 'forget?' Andy: 'forget That...there Are Places In This World That Aren't Made Out Of Stone. That There's Something Inside...that They Can't Get To, That They Can't Touch. That's Yours.' Red: 'what're You Talking About?' Andy: 'hope.'

They're Animals, All Right. But Why Are You So Goddam Sure That Makes Us Human Beings?

Flip-flop, Hippety-hop, Offa Your Rocker And Over The Top, Life's A Fiction And The World's A Lie, So Put On Some Creedence And Let's Get High.

And She Sees That The Moonlight Is Losing Its Orange Glow. It Has Become Buttery, And Will Soon Turn To Silver.