I Write Out Of Defiance.

The Space Between The Idea Of Something And Its Reality Is Always Wide And Deep And Dark. The Longer They Are Kept Apart—idea Of Thing, Reality Of Thing—the Wider The Width, The Deeper The Depth, The Thicker And Darker The Darkness.

On Their Way To Freedom, Some People Find Riches, Some People Find Death.

Who You Are Is A Mystery No One Can Answer, Not Even You.

There Are Things That Make Us Choose, On Certain Days, On Certain Nights, The Opposite Of Love, In All Its Variations. But I Want To Acknowledge That With Love And Hate It's Not Simply One Or The Other. It's At Least Two, Three, Four, Five Different Emotions Existing At Once, Side By Side, A Broad Spectrum Of Things Alive.

Most Of The Nations That Have Serious Gardening Cultures Have, Or Had, Empires. You Can't Have This Luxury Of Pleasure Without Somebody Paying For It. This Is Nice To Know. It's Nice To Know That When You Sit Down To Enjoy A Plate Of Strawberries, Somebody Got Paid Very Little So That You Could Have Your Strawberries. It Doesn't Mean The Strawberries Will Taste Different, But It's Nice To Enjoy Things Less Than We Do. We Enjoy Things Far Too Much, And It Leads To Incredible Pain And Suffering.