Their Silence Comfortable. Something Unfolding. But What?

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You.

In A Rough Way The Short Story Writer Is To The Novelist As A Cabinetmaker Is To A House Carpenter.

Everybody That Went Away Suffered A Broken Heart. "i'm Coming Back Some Day," They All Wrote. But Never Did. The Old Life Was Too Small To Fit Anymore.

We're All Strange Inside. We Learn How To Disguise Our Differences As We Grow Up.

If A Piece Of Knotted String Can Unleash The Wind, And If A Drowned Man Can Awaken, Then I Believe A Broken Man Can Heal.