Love Is A Sacred Silence.

A Writer In Someone Who Spends Years Patiently Trying To Discover The Second Being Inside Him, And The World That Makes Him Who He Is.

For The Traveler We See Leaning On His Neighbor Is An Honest And Well-meaning Man And Full Of Melancholy, Like Those Chekhov Characters So Laden With Virtues That They Never Know Success In Life.

...the Endless Repetition Of An Ordinary Miracle.

As Always After Drinking Too Much, I Felt Like My Own Ghost Trying To Take It's First Solo Walk Outside The Body.

My Religion Is Complicated. Literature Is My True Religion. After All, I Come From A Completely Non-religious Family.