Sweet To Think On It, That When

I Have To Move Away From Organized Religion. The Toxic Confusion And Anger I Was Feeling In Church Had Become Too Great.

If You Want To Be A Writer, Write. Write And Write And Write. If You Stop, Start Again. Save Everything That You Write. If You Feel Blocked, Write Through It Until You Feel Your Creative Juices Flowing Again. Write. Writing Is What Makes A Writer, Nothing More And Nothing Less.

It Seems An Insult To The Night To Speak Of Purpose And Intent, When This Common Moment Is So Brimming Full Of Blessed Design Tranquility. All Things Follow Their Course.

I Know Nothing Of God Or The Devil. I Have Never Seen A Vision Nor Learned A Secret That Would Damn Or Save My Soul.

I Grabbed Her Ankle And Kissed It, And When I Looked Up I Saw Her Chin And Her Eyelashes As She Threw Back Her Head And Laughed.