I Will Die Like A True-blue Rebel.

... People Made The Imaginary Real All The Time: Taking The Music They Heard In Their Head And Recording It, Seeing A House In Their Imagination And Building It. Fantasy Was Always Only A Reality Waiting To Be Switched On.

She'd Thought Love Had Something To Do With Happiness, But It Turned Out They Were Not Even Vaguely Related. Love Was Closer To A Need, No Different From The Need To Eat, To Breathe.

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

You Loved Me As Hard As You Knew How. I'd Give Anything To Go Back And Love You Better.

You Think You Know Someone. But Mostly You Just Know What You Want To Know.