God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?

I Suppose, I Hoped, By Setting A Particularly Brutal Ancient Rite In The Present And In My Own Village To Shock The Story's Readers With A Graphic Dramatization Of The Pointless Violence And General Inhumanity In Their Own Lives.

It Is Only With The Eyes Open That A Corporeal Form Returns, And Assembles Itself Firmly Around The Hard Core Of Sight.

All Cat Stories Start With This Statement: "my Mother, Who Was The First Cat, Told Me This...

Don't Do It, Eleanor Told The Little Girl; Insist On Your Cup Of Stars; Once They Have Trapped You Into Being Like Everyone Else You Will Never See Your Cup Of Stars Again; Don't Do It; And The Little Girl Glanced At Her, And Smiled A Little Subtle, Dimpling, Wholly Comprehending Smile, And Shook Her Head Stubbornly At The Glass. Brave Girl, Eleanor Thought; Wise, Brave Girl.

I Have Always Loved To Use Fear, To Take It And Comprehend It And Make It Work And Consolidate A Situation Where I Was Afraid And Take It Whole And Work From There.