Write As If You Are Dying.

These Are Our Few Live Seasons. Let Us Live Them As Purely As We Can, In The Present.

We Are Here To Witness The Creation And To Abet It.

There Is No Such Thing As An Artist: There Is Only The World Lit Or Unlit As The Light Allows. When The Candle Is Burning, Who Looks At The Wick? When The Candle Is Out, Who Needs It?

Theirs Is The Mystery Of Continuous Creation And All That Providence Implies: The Uncertainty Of Vision, The Horror Of The Fixed, The Dissolution Of The Present, The Intricacy Of Beauty, The Pressure Of Fecundity, The Elusiveness Of The Free, And The Flawed Nature Of Perfection.

Why Did I Have To Keep Learning This Same Thing Over And Over?