Death Is The Least Civilized Rite Of

So What Is Wild? What Is Wilderness? What Are Dreams But An Internal Wilderness And What Is Desire But A Wildness Of The Soul?

But If There Was Embellishment, It Only Had To Do With The Facts.

I Have Always Kept Notebooks And I Go Back To Them Over And Over. They Are My Compost Pile Of Ideas.

Time Is The Water In Which We Live, And We Breathe It Like Fish. ... Time Pours Into Us And Then Pours Out Again. In Between The Two Pourings We Live Our Destiny.

Time Was Rushing Around Me Like Water Around A Big Wet Rock. The Only Difference Is, I Was Not So Durable As Stones. Very Quickly I Would Be Smoothed Away.