I´m A Stranger In A Strange Land.

The Human Heart Is A Lonely Hunter-but The Search For Us Southerners Is More Anguished.

Sometimes This Fellow's Music Was Like Little Colored Pieces Of Crystal Candy, And Other Times It Was The Softest, Saddest Thing She Had Ever Imagined About.

A Most Mediocre Person Can Be The Object Of A Love Which Is Wild, Extravagant, And Beautiful As The Poison Lillies Of The Swamp.

I Was Like A Cat Always Climbing The Wrong Tree.

The Seed Of The Idea Is Developed By Both Labor And The Unconscious, And The Struggle That Goes On Between Them.