There Are Obviously A Great Many Ways

Remember That Every Son Had A Mother Whose Beloved Son He Was, And Every Woman Had A Mother Whose Beloved Son She Wasn't.

Long Hair Is Considered Bohemian, Which May Be Why I Grew It, But I Keep It Long Because I Love The Way It Feels, Part Cloak, Part Fan, Part Mane, Part Security Blanket.

Your Anger Was A Climate I Inhabited Like A Desert In A Dry Frigid Weather Of High Thin Air And Ivory Sun, Sand Dunes The Wind Lifted Into Stinging Clouds That Blinded And Choked Me Where The Only Ice Was In The Blood.

The Real Writer Is One Who Really Writes. Talent Is An Invention Like Phlogiston After The Fact Of Fire. Work Is Its Own Cure. You Have To Like It Better Than Being Loved.

I Find It Easy To Admire In Trees What Depresses Me In People