Don't Be Sad That Roses Have Thorns.

I Have A Kind Of Old-fashioned, Artisan Approach.

For Me The End Of A Book Is Just As Exciting As It Is For A Reader.

I Was In The Machine. My Whole Life. Then The Machine Coughed And Spat Me Out. So I Thought, Ok, If I'm Out, I'm Out. All The Way Out. I Was A Little Angry And It Was Probably An Immature Reaction. But I Got Used To It.

To Fill A Small Bag Means Selecting,and Choosing, And Evaluating. There's No Logicial End To That Process. Pretty Soon I Would Have A Big Bag, And Then Two Or Three. A Month Later I'd Be Like The Rest Of You.

He Looked At The Pain And He Set Himself Apart From It. He Saw It, Examined It, Identified It, Corralled It. He Isolated It. He Challenged It. You Against Me? Dream On, Pal. He Built Borders For It. Then Walls. He Built Walls And Forced The Pain Behind Them And Then He Moved The Walls Inward, Compressing The Pain, Crushing It, Boxing It In, Limiting It, Beating It.