If I Could Do It Over, I'd

It's Nice Sometimes To Open Up The Heart A Little And Let Some Hurt Come In. It Proves You're Still Alive.

People Ask Me Why I Connected. It Was Presumptuous Of Me To Say, But I'm Everyman. The Difference Is I Put My Thoughts Into Words.

I Cannot Speculate On What Our Cluttered Mind Will Save- Sleepy Sundays, Or A Nosebleed After Love. I Know Only The Dying Heart Needs The Nourishment Of Memory To Live Beyond Too Many Winters.

There's No Misery In Not Being Loved, Only In Not Loving.

The World Needs Writers. We Will Always Be Necessary. There Are Few Professions That Can Claim That Distinction.