You Know Someone For A While And

Music [is] The Third Rail Of Life. You Grabbed It To Shock Yourself Out Of The Dull Drag Of Hours. To Feel Something. To Burn With All The Emotions You Didn't Get To Experience In The Ordinary Run Of School, Tv, And Loading The Dishwasher After Dinner.

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

The Soul Is An Irrational, Indivisible Equation That Perfectly Expresses One Thing: You. The Soul Would Be No Good To The Devil If It Could Be Destroyed. And It Is Not Lost When Placed In Satan's Care, As Is So Often Said. He Always Know Exactly How To Put His Finger On It.

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

You'll Have Pie In The Sky When You Die.