In This World, Where We Find Ourselves,

My Youngest Brother Had A Wonderful Schtick From Some Time In High School, Through To Graduating Medicine. He Had A Card In His Wallet That Read, ‘if I Am Found With Amnesia, Please Give Me The Following Books To Read …’ And It Listed Half A Dozen Books Where He Longed To Recapture That First Glorious Sense Of Needing To Find Out ‘what Happens Next’ … The Feeling That Keeps You Up Half The Night. The Feeling That Comes Before The Plot’s Been Learned.

... Everyone Knew That All Islands Were Worlds Unto Themselves, That To Come To An Island Was To Come To Another World.

Lazy Poets Try To Elicit A Reader's Response With Words Designed To Tug At The Heart.

Ice Is For Death And Endings.

As Many Have Noted, The Peril For Authors Is That Our Work Space Is Too Easily Our Play Space.