I Read Constantly. If I Don't Have

Dreams Say What They Mean, But They Don't Say It In Daytime Language.

I Confess, Right At The Start, To The Doubts - And Sometimes Outright Dreads - That Go With Me As I Climb The Stairs To My Study In The Morning, Coffee Mug In Hand: I Have To Admit To The Habitual Apprehension Mixed With A Sort Of Reverence, As I Light The Incense . . . And Wonder: What Is Going To Happen Today? Will Anything Happen? Will The Angel Come Today?

Who Wanted To Creep Along In Comfort When There Was One Chance In A Thousand Of Flying?

The Act Of Longing For Something Will Always Be More Intense Than The Requiting Of It.

There Are Two Kinds Of People. One Kind, You Can Just Tell By Looking At Them At What Point They Congealed Into Their Final Selves. It Might Be A Very Nice Self, But You Know You Can Expect No More Surprises From It. Whereas, The Other Kind Keep Moving, Changing... They Are Fluid. They Keep Moving Forward And Making New Trysts With Life, And The Motion Of It Keeps Them Young. In My Opinion, They Are The Only People Who Are Still Alive. You Must Be Constantly On Your Guard Against Congealing.