But It's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks Are

Of Many Magics, One Is Watching A Beloved Sleep: Free Of Eyes And Awareness, You For A Sweet Moment Hold The Heart Of Him; Helpless, He Is Then All, And However Irrationally, You Have Trusted Him To Be, Man-pure, Child-tender.

Aprils Have Never Meant Much To Me, Autumns Seem That Season Of Beginning, Spring.

Dizzy With Excitement Is No Mere Phrase.

I Am A Completely Horizontal Author. I Can't Think Unless I'm Lying Down, Either In Bed Or Stretched On A Couch.

Fame Is Only Good For One Thing - They Will Cash Your Check In A Small Town.