In The End, It’s All A Question

Black Money Is So Much A Part Of Our White Economy, A Tumour In The Centre Of The Brain - Try To Remove It And You Kill The Patient.

In The End, It’s All A Question Of Balance.

All Fiction Relies On The Real World In The Sense That We All Take In The World Through Our Five Senses And We Accumulate Details, Consciously Or Subconsciously. This Accumulation Of Detail Can Be Drawn On When You Write Fiction.

Flirting With Madness Was One Thing; When Madness Started Flirting Back, It Was Time To Call The Whole Thing Off.

What An Unreliable Thing Is Time--when I Want It To Fly, The Hours Stick To Me Like Glue. And What A Changeable Thing, Too. Time Is The Twine To Tie Our Lives Into Parcels Of Years And Months. Or A Rubber Band Stretched To Suit Our Fancy. Time Can Be The Pretty Ribbon In A Little Girl's Hair. Or The Lines In Your Face, Stealing Your Youthful Colour And Your Hair. .... But In The End, Time Is A Noose Around The Neck, Strangling Slowly.