Poppies Bleed Petals Of Sheer Excess. You

Don't Turn Over The Rocks If You Don't Want To See The Pale Creatures Who Live Under Them.

I Use My Fiction To Explore My Own Unconscious Issues. I Usually Don't Even Know What's Going On With Me Until I'm Writing.

I Thought Of My Mother As Queen Christina, Cool And Sad, Eyes Trained On Some Distant Horizon. That Was Where She Belonged, In Furs And Palaces Of Rare Treasures, Fireplaces Large Enough To Roast A Reindeer, Ships Of Swedish Maple.

I Thought How Tenuous The Links Were Between Mother And Children Between Friends Family Things You Think Are Eternal. Everything Could Be Lost More Easily Than Anyone Could Imagine.

Take My Advice. Stay Away From All Broken People.