That Was What She Really Wanted. To

As A Person With Terrible Handwriting, I Love The Computer. I've Waited All My Life For The Computer.

Darkness Coiled Between What He Wanted Them To Believe And The Self He Despised. It Only Made Him More Alone. How Could You Save Someone When He Didn't Let You Kno Him? What A Waste. The Beauty He Murdered In This Place. He Could Never See What He Had, Only What He Failed To Achieve.

Writing Mirrors The Interior Self. You Know, Any Book Is Like The Perfect Blueprint Of The Psyche Of The Author.

And If There Is No God? You Act As If There Is, And It's The Same Thing.

I'm Always Gratified When I Check Something I've Made Up And Discover That I've Gotten It Right. How Can We Imagine Something That Turns Out To Be True? How Can We Know Things We Couldn't Possibly Know? It Makes Me Wonder About The Existence Of A Collective Unconscious.