Time Was A Thief, He Stole Your

Not Being Published Would Be Great. When I Say That To Other Writers They Look At Me As If I'm Totally Insane.

In The End, It Is My Belief, Words Are The Only Things That Can Construct A World That Makes Sense.

As I Watch, The Sky Fills With Clouds Of Snow Feathers From Every Kind Of Bird There Ever Was And Even Some That Only Exist In The Imagination, Like The Bluebirds That Fly Over The Rainbow.

No Point In Thinking, You Just Have To Get On With Life. We Only Have One After All, We Should Try And Do Our Best. We Can Never Get It Right, But We Must Try.

Probably Not Needing To Be Published Would Give Me More Time To Think About A Book.