No One Dies Happy, You Can Only

And The Rain Went Rollin Down The Windowpanes, And The Shadows Wiggled N' Squiggled On Her Check And Forehead Like Black Veins.

He Looked To Her Like An Absurd Twentieth-century Hamlet, An Indecisive Figure So Mesmerized By Onrushing Tragedy That He Was Helpless To Divert Its Course Or Alter It In Any Way.

The Only Wat To Get Better At Writing Is To Write. And Read.

Close Your Eyes And Click Your Heals Three Times...because There's No Place Like Dome.

The Wind Makes You Ache Is Some Place That Is Deeper Than Your Bones. It May Be That It Touches Something Old In The Human Soul, A Chord Of Race Memory That Says Migrate Or Die - Migrate Or Die.