This Isn't A Watercolor, It's A Mural.

But What Does He Do To Qualify As A Sonovabitch?” Jenny Asked. “make Me”, I Replied. “beg Pardon?” “make Me”, I Repeated. Her Eyes Widened Like Saucers. “you Mean Like Incest?” She Asked. “don’t Give Me Your Family Problems, Jen. I Have Enough Of My Own.” “like What, Oliver?” She Asked, “like Just What Is It He Makes You Do?” “the ‘right Things’”, I Said. “what’s Wrong With The ‘right Things’?” She Asked, Delighting In The Apparent Paradox.

I Was Afraid Of Being Rejected, Yes. I Was Also Afraid Of Being Accepted For The Wrong Reasons.

The ‘equilibrium’ That People See In Me Is Really An Illusion. I Am As Flawed As Anyone. It’s Only That I Seem To Have The Knack Of Hiding.

Although Science Could Pinpoint The Exact Spot In The Brain That Ignites Rage, They Had Yet To Identify The Location That Produces Love.

Some Were Brilliant Bordering On Genius. Others, Genius Bordering On Madness