Sovereign. Deadly. Perfect.

You Journalists Bulldoze Life's Mysteries, Ignorant Of What You're So Ruthlessly Turning Up.

Within Every Elaborate Lie, A Kernel Of Truth.

It's Kind Of Funny...the Moments On Which Life Hinges. I Think Growing Up You Always Imagine Your Life - Your Success - Depends On Your Family And How Much Money They Have, Where You Go To College, What Sort Of Job You Can Pin Down, Starting Salary...but It Doesn't, You Know. You Wouldn't Believe This, But Life Hinges On A Couple Of Seconds You Never See Coming. And What You Decide In Those Few Seconds Determines Everything From Then On... And You Have No Idea What You'll Do Until You're There.

Look At Picasso. O’neill. Tennessee Williams. Capote. Were These Shiny Happy People Spreading Sunshine? No. Only The Greatest Of Personal Demons Can Force You To Do Powerful Work.

Making Love To Aurelia Was Like Rummaging Through A Card Catalog In A Deserted Library, Searching For One Very Obscure, Little-read Entry On Hungarian Poetry.