The Wind Is Us-- It Gathers And

The Quietness Of His Tone Italicized The Malice Of His Reply.

I Hated Hemingway. I Liked Faulkner But He Was A Bore.

But There Were Moments When She Played Songs That Made You Wonder Where She Learned Them, Where Indeed She Came From. Harsh-tender Wandering Tunes With Words That Smacked Of Pinewoods Or Prairie. One Went: Don’t Wanna Sleep, Don’t Wanna Die, Just Wanna Go A-travelin’ Through The Pastures Of The Sky; And This One Seemed To Gratify Her The Most, For Often She Continued It Long After Her Hair Hard Dried, After The Sun Had Gone And There Were Lighted Windows In The Dusk.

Good Writing Is Rewriting.

Half The People Who Snuff People, That's What They Want: Recognition. Get Their Picture In The Paper.