No Matter How Grave The Secret, How

Come On, Is Your Heart A Sponge Or A Fist?

Suddenness," He Says. " You Do Not Prepare, You Do Not Explain, You Do Not Apologize. Suddenly, You Go. And With You, You Take All Contemplation, All Consideration Of Your Own Departure. All The Suffering That Would Have Come From Knowing Comes After You Are Gone, And You Are Not A Part Of It.

The Best Fiction Stays With You And Changes You.

What Inspires Me Most To Write Is The Act Of Traveling.

When Your Fight Has Purpose - To Free You From Something, To Interfere On The Behalf Of An Innocent - It Has A Hope Of Finality. When The Fight Is About Unraveling - When It Is About Your Name, The Places To Which Your Blood Is Anchored, The Attachment Of Your Name To Some Landmark Or Event - There Is Nothing But Hate, And The Long, Slow Progression Of People Who Feed On It And Are Fed It, Meticulously, By The Ones Who Come Before Them. Then The Fight Is Endless, And Comes In Waves And Waves, But Always Retains Its Capacity To Surprise Those Who Hope Against It.