One Hates A Person For The Same

But Really, It Was Reading That Led Me To Writing. And In Particular, Reading The American Classics Like Twain Who Taught Me At An Early Age That Ordinary Lives Of Ordinary People Can Be Made Into High Art.

Nobody Does Anything For One Reason.

Motivations Are Too Tangled And Complex.

I Am Not A Ventriloquist.

They Were Gone And I Missed Them But Even So I Was Very Happy. For The Rest Of My Life No Matter Where On This Planet Earth I Went And No Matter How Scared Or Confused I Got, I Could Wait Until Dark And Look Up Into The Night Sky And See My Three Friends Again And My Heart Would Swell With Love Of Them And Make Me Strong And Clearheaded.