A Peasant That Reads Is A Prince

The Life Most Of Us Live Are Lives We Are Forced To Live By Immediate Needs, Influences, And Pressures.

Rest Easy And Go With The Faith You Lived With

I Laugh, That There's A Certain Kind Of Cyclical Nature To Life And That I Don't Have To Worry Because Whatever Isn't There Right Now, It's Coming Back Again.

Love, As The Poet Says, Is Like The Spring. It Grows On You And Seduces You Slowly And Gently, But It Holds Tight Like The Roots Of A Tree. You Don't Know Until You're Ready To Go That You Can't Move, That You Would Have To Mutilate Yourself In Order To Be Free. That's The Feeling. It Doesn't Last, At Least It Doesn't Have To. But It Holds On Like A Steel Claw In Your Chest. Even If The Tree Dies, The Roots Cling To You. I've Seen Men And Women Give Up Everything For Love That Once Was.

Literature Is The Adventure. It's The Story, It's The Fight, It's People Falling In Love, It's People With Deep Personality Disorders Who Succeed Anyway Beyond Themselves. That's What Great Literature Is.