The Lake Of Dreams Grew Gradually, Over

Its Impossible To Control The Reception Of Your Work - The Only Thing You Can Control Is The Experience Of Writing Itself, And The Work You Create.

He Could Hardly Imagine Anymore What His Life Would Be Without The Weight Of His Hidden Knowledge. He'd Come To Think Of It As A Kind Of Penance. It Was Self-destructive, He Could See That, But That Was The Way Things Were. People Smoked, They Jumped Out Of Airplanes, They Drank Too Much And Got Into Their Cars And Drove Without Seat Belts.

It Seemed There Was No End At All To The Lies A Person Could Tell, Once She Got Started.

She Saw Herself Moving Through Another Life, An Exotic, Difficult, Satisfying Life.

After All These Years, I Feel So Free. Who Knows Where I Might Fly?