None Of Us Know Where Our Stories

He Was Walking Into Faerie, In Search Of A Fallen Star, With No Idea How He Would Find The Star, Nor How To Keep Himself Safe And Whole As He Tried. He Looked Back And Fancied That He Could See The Lights Of Wall Behind Him, Wavering And Glimmering As If In A Heat-haze, But Still Inviting.

The Problems With Success, Frankly, Are Infinitely Preferable To The Problems Of Failure.

A Story Only Matters, I Suspect, To The Extent That The People In The Story Change.

What Do Stars Do? They Shine.

A Philosopher Once Asked, "are We Human Because We Gaze At The Stars, Or Do We Gaze At Them Because We Are Human?" Pointless, Really..."do The Stars Gaze Back?" Now That's A Question.