The Great Grey Beast February Had Eaten

One Part Of Love Is Innocence One Part Of Love Is Guilt One Part The Milk That In A Sense Is Soured As Soon As Spilt One Part Of Love Is Sentiment One Part Of Love Is Lust One Part Is The Presentiment Of Our Return To Dust

Fear Is A Place Where You Just Tell The Truth

We Have Great Cities To Visit: New York And Washington, Paris And London; And Further East, And Older Than Any Of These, The Legendary City Of Samarkand, Whose Crumbling Palaces And Mosques Still Welcome Travelers On The Silk Road. Weary Of Cities? Then We’ll Take To The Wilds. To The Islands Of Hawaii And The Mountains Of Japan, To Forests Where Civil War Dead Still Lie, And Stretches Of Sea No Mariner Ever Crossed. They All Have Their Poetry: The Glittering Cities And The Ruined, The Watery Wastes And The Dusty; I Want To Show You Them All. I Want To Show You Everything.

Make Your Own Worlds. Make Your Own Laws. Make Your Own Creations, Your Own Star Systems. Don't Feel Answerable To Anyone, Or As Though You Have To Create After Some Preordained Model. You Don't Have To Write Like Myself, Or King Or Anne Rice: Be Yourself. Nothing Is More Wonderful Than Discovering A New Voice, Particularly If It Happens To Be Your Own.

She Wanted Nothing That He Could Offer Her, Except Perhaps His Absence.