The Regional Voice Is The Universal Voice.

She Thought That This Man Was Her Savior, That He Had Come To Her At A Time In Her Life When Her Life Demanded Completion, An End, A Permanent Fixing Of All That Was Troubled And Shifting And Deadly. And Yet It Was Absurd To Think This. No Person Could Save Another. So She Drew Back From Him And Released Him.

Our House Is Made Of Glass... And Our Lives Are Made Of Glass; And There Is Nothing We Can Do To Protect Ourselves.

My Writing Is Full Of Lives I Might Have Led.

Without Craft, Art Remains Private. Without Art, Craft Is Merely Hackwork.

Fame's Carapace Does Not Allow For Easy Breathing.