I Like Any Place That Isn't Here.

There Are People Who Have A Penchant For Cities-more Than That, A Talent For Them, A Gift Of Sensing Them, Of Feeling Their Rhythm And Pulsebeats, As Others Have A Highly Developed Music Sense, Or Color Reaction. It Is A Thing That Cannot Be Acquired.

Christmas Isn't A Season. It's A Feeling.

Wasn't Marriage, Like Life, Unstimulating And Unprofitable And Somewhat Empty When Too Well Ordered And Protected And Guarded. Wasn't It Finer, More Splendid, More Nourishing, When It Was, Like Life Itself, A Mixture Of The Sordid And The Magnificent; Of Mud And Stars; Of Earth And Flowers; Of Love And Hate And Laughter And Tears And Ugliness And Beauty And Hurt.

The Writer Is A Writer Because He Cannot Help It. It Is A Compulsion.

Whoever Said Love Conquers All Was A Fool. Because Almost Everything Conquers Love - Or Tries To.