If A Man Wishes To Truly Not

The Real Drug, I Came To Believe, Was Love.

The Silence Was Part Of The Story I Wanted To Tell.

Some Literary Types Subscribe To The Notion That Being A Writer Like Salinger Entitles A Person To Remain Free Of The Standards That Might Apply To Mere Mortals.

I Have No Doubt That Over The Years My Children Will Find Plenty Of Things About Me To Criticize. But Something Tells Me That Twenty Years From Now Not One Of Them Will Sit On Some Therapist's Couch Complaining Because Their Mother Didn't Spend Enough Time Vacuuming Up Glitter.

You Lay Your Hand Against His Skin And Just Rib His Back. Blow Into His Ear. Press That Baby Up Against Your Own Skin And Walk Outside With Him, Where The Night Air Will Sourround Him, And Moonlight Fall On His Face. Whistle, Maybe. Dance. Hum. Pray. (how To Calm A Crying Baby)