The Great Thing About Books Is That

In My Dreams I Gorge On Chocolates, I Roll In Chocolates, And Their Texture Is Not Brittle But Soft As Flesh, Like A Thousand Mouths On My Body, Devouring Me In Fluttering Small Bites. To Die Beneath Their Tender Gluttony Seems The Culmination Of Every Temptation I Have Ever Known.

The Process Of Writing Is A Little Like Madness, A Kind Of Possession Not Altogether Benign.

I Think Everybody Has A Secret Life.

I Like Autumn. The Drama Of It; The Golden Lion Roaring Through The Back Door Of The Year, Shaking Its Mane Of Leaves. A Dangerous Time; Of Violent Rages And Deceptive Calm, Of Fireworks In The Pockets And Conkers In The Fist.

A Thing Named Is A Thing Tamed.