Contempt Mates Well With Pity.

There's Something Hypocritical About A City That Keeps Half Of Its Population Underground Half Of The Time; You Can Start Believing That There's Much More Space Than There Really Is-to Live, To Work.

It's As If I've Arrived In A Place Where It's All Spirit And No Body -- An Overwhelming Sense Of Calm . . . I Actually Began To Feel Blessed.

She Could Walk Through A Lightning Storm Without Being Touched; Grab A Bolt Of Lightning In The Palm Of Her Hand; Use The Heat Of Lightning To Start The Kindling Going Under Her Medicine Pot. She Turned The Moon Into Salve, The Stars Into Swaddling Cloth, And Healed The Wounds Of Every Creature Walking Up On Two Or Down On Four.

Why Do I Write? The Truth, The Unvarnished Truth, Is That I Haven't A Clue.

A Star Dies In Heaven Every Time You Snatch Away Someone's Dream.