Whatever Peace I Know Rests In The

I Love Giving Flowers. It Is So Deliciously Unlasting And Romantic.

I Feel Like An Inadequate Machine, A Machine That Breaks Down At Crucial Moments, Grinds To A Dreadful Hault, 'won't Go,' Or, Even Worse, Explodes In Some Innocent Person's Face.

I Feel More Alive When I'm Writing Than I Do At Any Other Time--except Maybe When I'm Making Love.

In A Total Work, The Failures Have Their Not Unimportant Place.

People Who Cannot Feel Punish Those Who Do.