We Were Exiles From Reality That Summer.

I Like To Push Characters To Extremes So They Have To Make Really Tough Decisions And There Is No Life More Extreme Than That Of An Athlete.

You Travel Here And You Travel There, Trying To Get Out From Under The Cloud, And Nothing Works, And Then One Day You Realize You've Been Carrying The Weather Around With You.

It Was The Month Of May And There Was Warm Sunshine Dripping Through The Holes Between The Clouds, Like The Sky Was A Broken Blue Bowl And A Child Was Trying To Keep Honey In It.

I Could Not Stop Talking Because Now I Had Started My Story, It Wanted To Be Finished. We Cannot Choose Where To Start And Stop. Our Stories Are The Tellers Of Us.

Sad Words Are Just Another Beauty. A Sad Story Means, This Storyteller Is Alive