Our Love Lives Because I Live.

There Is An Ugliness In Being Paid For Work One Does Not Like.

Write. Write Until It Stops Hurting.

When I Am Most Deeply Rooted, I Feel The Wildest Desire To Uproot Myself.

We Are Like Sculptors, Constantly Carving Out Of Others The Image We Long For, Need, Love Or Desire, Often Against Reality, Against Their Benefit, And Always, In The End, A Disappointment, Because It Does Not Fit Them.

At First She Beckoned And Lured One Into Her World; Then, She Blurred The Passageways, Confused All The Images, As If To Elude Detection.