In The Dark Attics Of Our Minds,

Let Me Give You Some Advice: Try To Approach Things Without Preconceived Ideas, Without Supposing You Already Know Everything There Is To Know About Them. Get That Trick Down And You'll Be Surprised At What's Really All Around You.

[she] Had Felt Straight Away That She Wasn’t Meeting A New Friend, But Recognizing An Old One.

She Hoped He Was Running To His Red Deer Woman, And That When He Tapped On The Door Of Her Heart, She'd Open It Wide And Let Him In.

Can You Remember How You Felt When You Were Communicating Through Your Artwork? Not Just The Sense Of Completion, But The Sense Of Rightness- The Sense That You Had Brought To Life Something That Could Live Beyond Your Sphere Of Being, That Held In It Far More Potential Than You Ever Realized You Were Imbuing In The Work?

We're All Made Of Stories. When They Finally Put Us Underground, The Stories Are What Will Go On. Not Forever, Perhaps, But For A Time. It's A Kind Of Immortality, I Suppose, Bounded By Limits, It's True, But Then So's Everything.