So What? All Writers Are Lunatics!

Nobody Loves Only Once.

Mo Could Paint Pictures In The Empty Air With His Voice Alone.

Perhaps The Story In The Book Is Just The Lid On A Pan: It Always Stays The Same, But Underneath There's A Whole World That Goes On - Developing And Changing Like Our Own World.

Hope. Nothing Is More Intoxicating.

No Prince Had Lived In Those Wretched Hovels, No Red-robed Bishops, Only Farmers And Laborers Whose Stories No One Had Written Down, And Now They Were Lost, Buried Under Wild Thyme And Fast Growing Spurge.