Life Was An Impenetrable Mystery Cloaked In

A Good Novel Begins With A Small Question And Ends With A Bigger One.

When I Begin A Story At My Desk, The Window To My Back, The Path Is Not There. As I Start To Walk, I Make The Path.

Freedom Is A Public Library.

My Life Was Incoherent To Me. I Felt It Quivering, Spitting Out Broken Teeth.

A Lie Hides The Truth. A Story Tries To Find It.