Sometimes ... Dreams Are All That Separate

The Pack Of Media Brayed And Bellowed Outside The House For Seven Weeks. Sol Realized Then What He Had Known And Forgotten About Very Small Communities: They Were Frequently Annoying, Always Parochial, Sometimes Prying On A One-to-one Level, But Never Had They Subscribed To The Vicious Legacy Of The So-called "public's Right To Know".

Words Were Like Objects, Making The Idea More Solid -- Less A Poisonous Gas And More A ... Cube Of Crystallized Thought.

I Loved Almost Everything About Being A Teacher, But I Was An Unusual Teacher

The Future Is Like Smoke From A Burning Forest, Waiting For The Wind Of Specific Events And Personal Courage To Blow The Sparks And Embers Of Reality This Way Or That.

The Life Of A Poet Lies Not Merely In The Finite Language-dance Of Expression But In The Nearly Infinite Combinations Of Perception And Memory Combined With The Sensitivity To What Is Perceived And Remembered.