Nobody Cares Much Whether You Write Or

Life Is Not Orderly. No Matter How We Try To Make Life So, Right In The Middle Of It We Die, Lose A Leg, Fall In Love, Drop A Jar Of Applesauce. In Summer, We Work Hard To Make A Tidy Garden, Bordered By Pansies With Rows Or Clumps Of Columbine, Petunias, Bleeding Hearts. Then We Find Ourselves Longing For The Forest, Where Everything Has The Appearance Of Disorder; Yet We Feel Peaceful There.

Read Books. They Are Good For Us.

If You Love The Work, It Will Love You Back.

Actually, Every Time We Begin, We Wonder How We Did It Before, Each Time Is A New Journey With No Maps.

Trust In What You Love, Continue To Do It, And It Will Take You Where You Need To Go. And Don't Worry Too Much About Security. You Will Eventually Have A Deep Security When You Begin To Do What You Want.