A Big Enough Artist, I Say, Can

Love Never Dies A Natural Death. It Dies Because We Don't Know How To Replenish Its Source. It Dies Of Blindness And Errors And Betrayals. It Dies Of Illness And Wounds; It Dies Of Weariness, Of Witherings, Of Tarnishings.

At Sixteen, Sabina Took Moon Baths, First Of All, Because Everyone Else Took Sun Baths, And Second, She Admitted, Because She Had Been Told It Was Dangerous.

Life Is A Full Circle, Widening Until It Joins The Circle Motions Of The Infinite.

Guilt Is The One Burden Human Beings Can't Bear Alone.

Writers Do Not Live One Life, They Live Two. There Is The Living And Then There Is The Writing. There Is The Second Tasting, The Delayed Reaction.