I Prefer A Story That Has The

You Know, It's A Funny Thing About Writers. Most People Don't Stop To Think Of Books Being Written By People Much Like Themselves. They Think That Writers Are All Dead Long Ago--they Don't Expect To Meet Them In The Street Or Out Shopping. They Know Their Stories But Not Their Names, And Certainly Not Their Faces. And Most Writers Like It That Way.

He Longed For The Deep As She Longed For The Night Sky And For White Lilies Floating On Water -- Although She Still Tried To Convince Herself That Love Alone Could Feed Her Soul.

Children Are Caterpillars And Adults Are Butterflies. No Butterfly Ever Remembers What It Felt Like Being A Caterpillar.

She Read And Read And Read, But She Was Stuffing Herself With The Letters On The Page Like An Unhappy Child Stuffing Itself With Chocolate. They Didn’t Taste Bad, But She Was Still Unhappy.

She Wanted To Return To Her Dream. Perhaps It Was Still Somewhere There Behind Her Closed Eyelids. Perhaps A Little Of Its Happiness Still Clung Like Gold Dust To Her Lashes. Don't Dreams In Fairy Tales Sometimes Leave A Token Behind?