A Thousand Kindnesses Do Not Make Up

What We Suffer, What We Endure, What We Muff, What We Kill, What We Miss, What We Are Guilty Of, Is Done By Us, As Individuals, In Private.

The Measured Blood Beats Out The Year's Delay.

The Fact, And The Intuition Or Logic About The Fact, Are Severe Coordinates In Fiction. In The Short Story They Must Cross With Hair-line Precision.

Your Work Is Carved Out Of Agony As A Statue Is Carved Out Of Marble.

A Thousand Kindnesses Do Not Make Up For A Thousand Blows.