I Give Thanks For All That Has

It's Not That He Lacked Poetry. But His Poetry Was Of The Body, Not The Mind. He Spoke It In The Way He Moved, The Way He Held A Hammer, Rowed A Boat, Built A Fire. I, On The Other Hand, Was Like A Brain In A Box, A Beating Heart In A Coal Scuttle.

Somewhere Along The Line I'd Lost The Will Not To Eat.

I Guess The Difference Between Gin And Me Is That When Gin Got Shut In The Barn She Thought Edmond Didn't Love Her Anymore But Because I Could Feel Edmond Out There Somewhere Always Loving Me I Didn't Have To Howl All Night.

A Piano Might Fall On Your Head, He Said, But It Also Might Not. And In The Meantime You Never Know. Something Nice Might Happen.

The Imagination Can Be Dangerous. It Can Change The World. And That Is Why We Write.