The Only Word For Goodness Is Goodness,

...when The Words Pour Out Of You Just Right, You Understand That These Sentences Are All Part Of A River Flowing Out Of Your Own Distant, Hidden Ranges, And All Words Become The Dissolving Snow That Feeds Your Mountain Streams Forever. The Language Locks Itself In The Icy Slopes Of Our Own High Passes, And It Is Up To Us, The Writers, To Melt The Glaciers Within Us. When These Glaciers Break Off, We Get To Call Them Novels, The Changelings Of Our Burning Spirits, Our Life's Work.

There Are No Verdicts To Childhood, Only Consequences, And The Bright Freight Of Memory.

When Men Talk About The Agony Of Being Men, They Can Never Quite Get Away From The Recurrent Theme Of Self-pity. And When Women Talk About Being Women, They Can Never Quite Get Away From The Recurrent Theme Of Blaming Men.

My Mother Thought Of My Father As Half Barbarian And Half Blunt Instrument, And She Isolated Him From His Children.

There Is No Downside To Winning. It Feels Forever Fabulous.