Is There An Existence That Is Only

Who Is Alice?" Asked Mother. "alice Is Somebody That Nobody Can See," Said Frances. "and That Is Why She Does Not Have A Birthday. So I Am Singing Happy Thursday To Her." - Frances The Badger

A Map Is The Dead Body Of Where You've Been. A Map Is The Unborn Baby Of Where You're Going. There Are No Maps. Maps Are Pictures Of What Isn't.

An Ordinary Mirror Is Silvered At The Back But The Window Of The Night Train Has Darkness Behind The Glass. My Face And The Faces Of Other Travellers Were Now Mirrored On This Darkness In A Succession Of Stillnesses. Consider This, Said The Darkness: Any Motion At Any Speed Is A Succession Of Stillnesses; Any Section Through An Action Will Show Just Such A Plane Of Stillness As This Dark Window In Which Your Seeking Face Is Mirrored. And In Each Plane Of Stillness Is The Moment Of Clarity That Makes You Responsible For What You Do.

The First Thing I Would Say To Young Writers Is, "don't Do It, Unless You Can't Stand Not To Do It." And The Second Thing I Would Say Is, "if You Do Do It, And Get Into It, The Constant Rule You Should Have In Mind Is To Explore Your Material." It Sounds Simple, But It Isn't, Because People Often Want To Get From A To B, And They Don't Stop To Look At What Is In The Material.

When You Suffer An Attack Of Nerves You're Being Attacked By The Nervous System. What Chance Has A Man Got Against A System?.