As A Rule Of Thumb I Say,

I Cannot Believe Such Monstrous Energy Of Grief Can Lead To Nothing!

The True Artist Plays Mad With His Soul, Labors At The Very Lip Of The Volcano, But Remembers And Clings To His Purpose, Which Is As Strong As The Dream. He Is Not Someone Possessed, Like Cassandra, But A Passionate, Easily Tempted Explorer Who Fully Intends To Get Home Again, Like Odysseus.

One Must Be Just A Little Crazy To Write A Great Novel. One Must Be Capable Of Allowing The Darkest, Most Ancient And Shrewd Parts Of One’s Being To Take Over The Work From Time To Time.

When I Was A Child I Truly Loved: Unthinking Love As Calm And Deep As The North Sea. But I Have Lived, And Now I Do Not Sleep.

Poor Grendel's Had An Accident. So May You All.