Maybe That Was The Definition Of Life

He Believed That Life, True Life, Was Something That Was Stored In Music. True Life Was Kept Safe In The Lines Of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin While You Went Out In The World And Met The Obligations Required Of You. Certainly He Knew (though Did Not Completely Understand) That Opera Wasn't For Everyone, But For Everyone He Hoped There Was Something. The Records He Cherished, The Rare Opportunities To See A Live Performance, Those Were The Marks By Which He Gauged His Ability To Love.

Writing Is A Job, A Talent, But It's Also The Place To Go In Your Head. It Is The Imaginary Friend You Drink Your Tea With In The Afternoon.

People Gave Me Such A Bad Time About Wanting A Baby. I Didn't Want A Baby, And I Still Don't. I Wanted A Dog.

Time Has A Funny Way Of Collapsing When You Go Back To A Place You Once Loved. You Find Yourself Thinking, I Was Kissed In That Building, I Climbed Up That Tree.

Learn To Write By Writing