As Writers We Must, From Our Very

Please, God, Send Me Something To Adore.

That Is What We Do. That Is What People Do. They Stay Alive For Each Other.

Youth Is The Only Sexy Tragedy. It's James Dean Jumping Into His Porsche Spyder, It's Marilyn Heading Off To Bed.

. . . He Felt Himself Entering A Moment So Real He Could Only Run Toward It, Shouting.

If She Were Religious, She Would Call It The Soul. It Is More Than The Sum Of Her Intellect And Her Emotions, More Than The Sum Of Her Experiences, Though It Runs Like Veins Of Brilliant Metal Through All Three. It Is An Inner Faculty That Recognizes The Animating Mysteries Of The World Because It Is Made Of The Same Substance