Work And Pray, Live On Hay, Youll

... People Made The Imaginary Real All The Time: Taking The Music They Heard In Their Head And Recording It, Seeing A House In Their Imagination And Building It. Fantasy Was Always Only A Reality Waiting To Be Switched On.

You Loved Me As Hard As You Knew How. I'd Give Anything To Go Back And Love You Better.

She Liked Things That Had Been Written By People Who Had Lived Short, Ugly, And Tragic Lives. Or, Who At Least, Were English.

Her Sanity Was A Fragile Thing, A Butterfly Cupped In Her Hands, That She Carried With Her Everywhere, Afraid Of What Would Happen If She Let It Go-or Got Careless And Crushed It.

Already, Though, She Understood The Difference Between Being A Child And Being An Adult. The Difference Is When Someone Says He Can Keep The Bad Things Away, A Child Believes Him.