The Journey Is My Home.

The World Is Not Made Of Molecules, The World Is Made Of Stories.

I Remember Mother Saying : Inventors Are Like Poets, A Trashy Lot

What Would Happen If One Woman Told The Truth About Her Life? The World Would Split Open.

Dreams Are The Sources Of Action, The Meeting And The End, A Resting Place Among The Flight Of Things.

One Writes In Order To Feel.