I Knew Every Raindrop By Its Name.

In My Writing, I Want To Be Laid Bare As A Human Being.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.

The First Kiss Plummeted Him Down A Hole And Popped Him Out Into A World He Thought He Could Get Along In—as If He’d Been Pulling Hard The Wrong Way And Was Now Turned Around Headed Downstream.

I Think It's Silly For Anyone To Think You Could Write Under The Influence, But If They'd Like To Think That, I'd Like To Keep The Legend Alive. Maybe I Was Under The Influence When I Wrote Jesus' Son And I Just Didn't Know It.

This Life Is But The Childhood Of Our Immortality.