A Recipe Is A Story That Ends

It Is An Art Form To Hate New York City Properly. So Far I Have Always Been A Featherweight Debunker Of New York; It Takes Too Much Energy And Endurance To Record The Infinite Number Of Ways The City Offends Me.

There's No Word In The Language I Revere More Than 'teacher.' My Heart Sings When A Kid Refers To Me As His Teacher, And It Always Has. I've Honored Myself And The Entire Family Of Man By Becoming A Teacher.

My Mother Raised Me To Be A Writer.

Because She Deserved My Tears If Anyone On Earth Ever Did. I Could Feel The Tears Within Me, Undiscovered, And Untouched In Their Inland Sea. Those Tears Had Been With Me Always.

A Library Could Show You Everything If You Knew Where To Look.