Work And Pray, Live On Hay, Youll

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

There's Only Room For One Hero In This Story-and Everyone Knows The Devil Doesn't Get To Be The Good Guy.

The Language Of Sin Was Universal, The Original Esperanto.

If The Workers Took A Notion They Could Stop All Speeding Trains; Every Ship Upon The Ocean They Can Tie With Mighty Chains.

She Just Knew That Even When You Had Nothing, You Still Had Love.