During The Act Of Writing I Have

Who Wanted To Creep Along In Comfort When There Was One Chance In A Thousand Of Flying?

Some Things Arrive In Their Own Mysterious Hour, On Their Own Terms And Not Yours, To Be Seized Or Relinquished Forever.

Something's Your Vocation If It Keeps Making More Of You.

What Did A Few Ripples In The Flesh Matter When, All Too Soon, Now Or Later, That Flesh Would Be Making Its Return Journey To Dust?

The More You Respect And Focus On The Singular And The Strange, The More You Become Aware Of The Universal And Infinite.