She Had A Laugh That Hinted It

It's An Odd State To Be In, Blowing The Whistle On Your Home Country.

Most Of The Time In Our World, Truth Is Just Opinion.

For We Live With Those Retrievals From Childhood That Coalesce And Echo Throughout Our Lives, The Way Shattered Pieces Of Glass In A Kaleidoscope Reappear In New Forms And Are Songlike In Their Refrains And Rhymes, Making Up A Single Monologue. We Live Permanently In The Recurrence Of Our Own Stories, Whatever Story We Tell.

People Don't Write About Kids; You Have To Give Them A Lot Of Freedom, And That Causes Anarchy And That Causes Farce.

There's Always Been Anger In The Making Of Music Or Literature Or Dance.