Only Two Things Happen To Writers When

The Cumulative Power Of Doing Things The Same Way Every Day Seems To Be A Way Of Saying To The Mind: You're Going To Be Dreaming Soon.

Your First Impulse Is To Share Good News, Your Second Is To Club Someone With It.

I Can't Lie And Say There Are No Bad Writers. Sorry, But There Are Lots Of Bad Writers.

Time Is A Face On The Water.

The Redness Was Going Out Of The Light Now, The Remains Of The Day Were A Fading Pink, The Color Of Wild Roses.