Every Time I Finish A Book, I

My Sorrow Is I Used To Read All The Time And Now, As A Writer, I Don't Have The Time To Read.

It's Not Finding What's Lost, It's Understanding What You've Found.

The Grass He Walked Through Was New And A Sweet Smell Clung To His Clothes. There Was Blue Dye On His Hands From The Wild Irises... That The Color Of The Sky Was A Shade That Could Never Be Replicated In Any Photograph, Just As Heaven Could Never Be Seen From The Confines Of Earth.

Even In Times When It's Difficult To Figure Out, How Do You Go Forward, Art - And Books - Always Help

Remember What I've Told You. Remember Me.