I Love To Cook And I've Cooked

He Brought His Great Hand To Rest On An Early Edition Of Bram Stoker's Novel And Smiled, But Said Nothing. Then He Moved Quietly Away Into Another Section.

It's Funny; In This Era Of E-mail And Voice Mail And All Those Things That Even I Did Not Grow Up With, A Plain Old Paper Letter Takes On Amazing Intimacy.

My Guess Is That He Remembers Some Of Me, Some Of Us Together, And The Rest Rolled Off Him Like Topsoil In A Flash Flood.

I Keep Telling Myself I Should Try Very Hard To Write A Novel Of About 210 Pages... I Don't Seem To Be Capable Of It, But I Keep Hoping It Will Happen.

We Gypsies Know That Where Jews Are Killed, Gypsies Are Always Murthered Too. And Then A Lot Of Other People, Usually.