A Dream Without A Plan Is Just

On Decoration Day, While Everyone Else In Town Was At The Cemetery Decorating The Graves Of Our Glorious War Dead, Willie Beaner And Me, Robert Burns Hewitt, Took Mabel Cramm's Bloomers And Run Them Up The Flagpole In Front Of The Town Hall. That Was The Beginning Of All My Troubles.

This Is What Art Is All About. It Is Weaving Fabric From The Feathers You Have Plucked From Your Own Breast. But No One Must Ever See The Process - Only The Finished Bolt Of Goods. They Must Never Suspect That That Crimson Thread Running Through The Pattern Is Blood.

It's Like The Smarter You Are, The More Things Can Scare You.

Some Folks Are Natural Born Kickers. They Can Always Find A Way To Turn Disaster Into Butter.

A Great Novel Is A Kind Of Conversion Experience. We Come Away From It Changed.