I Had Wanted To Say That My

From My Stone Pillow I Have Dreamed Dreams Of The Mortal World Above. I Have Heard Its Voices, Its New Music, As Lullabies As I Lie In My Grave. I Have Envisioned Its Fantastical Discoveries. I Have Known Its Courage In The Timeless Sanctum Of My Thoughts. And Though It Shuts Me Out With Its Dazzling Forms, I Long For One With The Strength To Roam It Fearlessly, To Ride The Devil's Road Through Its Heart.

Paris Was A Universe Whole And Entire Unto Herself, Hollowed And Fashioned By History; So She Seemed In This Age Of Napoleon Iii With Her Towering Buildings, Her Massive Cathedrals, Her Grand Boulevards And Ancient Winding Medieval Streets - As Vast And Indestructible As Nature Itself.

When We Talk About Our Lives, Long Or Short, Brief And Tragic Or Enduring Beyond Comprehension, We Impose A Continuity On Them, And That Continuity Is A Lie.

The Truth Is, Laughter Always Sounds More Perfect Than Weeping. Laughter Flows In A Violent Riff And Is Effortlessly Melodic. Weeping Is Often Fought, Choked, Half Strangled, Or Surrendered To With Humiliation.

Advice To A New Writer: There Are No Rules In This Profession. Do What Is Good For You. Read Books And Watch Films That Stimulate Your Writing. In Your Writing, Go Where The Pain Is; Go Where The Pleasure Is; Go Where The Excitement Is. Believe In Your Own Original Approach, Voice, Characters, Story. Ignore Critics. Have Nerve. Be Stubborn.