To An Artist A Metaphor Is As

Dreams Don't Come True. Dreams Are True.

Though February Lay About Her Shoulders Like A Cloak Of Lead.

There Is No Such Thing As A Weird Human Being, It's Just That Some People Require More Understanding Than Others.

Reality Whistles A Different Tune Underwater.

I Show Up In My Writing Room At Approximately 10 A.m. Every Morning Without Fail. Sometimes My Muse Sees Fit To Join Me There And Sometimes She Doesn't, But She Always Knows Where I'll Be. She Doesn't Need To Go Hunting In The Taverns Or On The Beach Or Drag The Boulevard Looking For Me.