We All Have Our Dreams. May We

He Sat By Her, Watching Every Gesture She Made, As If He Would Paint Her Portrait Afterward.

Writers Tell Stories Better, Because They've Had More Practice, But Everyone Has A Book In Them. Yes, That Old Cliche.

At An Early School, When I Was About 5, They Asked What We Wanted To Be When We Grew Up. Everyone Said Silly Things, And I Said I Wanted To Be An Actress. So That Was What I Wanted To Be, But What I Was, Of Course, Was A Writer.

The Bitterness Of Joy Lies In The Knowledge That Is Cannot Last. Nor Should Joy Last Beyond A Certain Season, For, After That Season, Even Joy Would Become Merely Habit.

I Will Draw You Back To Me. You Shall See. By A Chain Of Stars.