What Is A Writer Of Fiction But

The Process Of Giving Is Without Limits.

Library-denigrators, Pay Heed:suggesting That The Internet Is A Viable Substitute For Libraries Is Like Saying Porn Could Replace Your Wife.

Drunkeness, She Told Us In A Rare Moment Of Confidence, Is A Sin Against The Fruit, The Tree, The Wine Itself. Wine, Distilled And Nurtured From Bud Into Fruit; It Deserves Reverance. Joy. Gentleness. (page 194.)

Death Should Be A Celebration. Like A Birthday. I Want To Go Up Like A Rocket When My Time Comes, And Fall Down In A Cloud Of Stars, And Hear Everyone Go: Ahh!

That Wind. I See It's Blowing Now. Furtive But Commanding, It Has Dictated Every Move We've Ever Made. My Mother Felt It, And So Do I - Even Here, Even Now - As It Sweeps Us Like Leaves Into His Backseat Corner, Dancing Us To Shreds Against The Stones. V'la L'bon Vent, V'a L'joli Vent. I Though We'd Silenced It For Good. But The Smallest Thing Can Wake The Wind@ A Word, A Sign, Even A Death. There's No Such Thing As A Trivial Thing. Everything Costs; It All Adds Up Until Finally The Balance Shifts And We're Gone Again, Back On The Road, Telling Ourselves - Well Maybe Next Time