I Dreamt A Limitless Book, A Book

Nothing Happens Carelessly. We’re Not Brought Into The World Without Reason, Even Though We May Never Understand The Reason. An Infant That Lives An Hour, That Dies Before It Can Lay Eyes On Those Who Made It, Even That Soul Did Not Live Without Purpose: This Is My Sudden Certainty.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.

By And Large I Think Art Is Made By People Who Have Discipline Married To Talent In Sufficiently Large Amounts To Work Even If They Don't Feel Like It. Anybody Can Get Maudlin And Decide To Write Poetry At 11 At Night; The Question Is, Can You Do It At 8:30 On A Monday Morning..?

You’ve Always Got Me” “always?” “didn’t I Just Say So?” “yes” “am I Liar? “ “no.” I Lied.

We’re Too Much Ourselves. Afraid Of Letting Go Of What We Are, In Case We Are Nothing, And Holding On So Tight, We Lose Everything Else.