When You're Invisible, No One Can See

From The First Time He'd Met Her, He'd Sensed An Air Of Contradiction About Her. She Was Very Much A Woman, But Still Retained A Waiflike Quality. She Could Be Brash, And At Times Deliberately Suggestive, Yet She Was Painfully Shy. She Was Incredibly Easy To Get Along With, Yet She Had Few Friends. She Was A Talented Artist In Her Own Right, But So Self-conscious About Her Work That She Rarely Completed A Piece And Preferred To Work With Other People's Art And Ideas.

I've Always Been Interested In The Outsider.

That's The Thing With Magic. You've Got To Know It's Still Here, All Around Us, Or It Just Stays Invisible For You.

Living On The Street As A Kid Changed The Way I Looked At Everything. It Was A Different Time And While It Had Its Dangers, It Was Nothing Like It Would Be Today. It Was The Summer Of Love And There Was A Real Sense Of Community Among Us. We Were Hippies Who Looked Out For Each Other Instead Of Trying To Rip Each Other Off. We Only Had To Watch Out For The Police Who Liked To Roust Us Just On General Principles, And The Kids Who Came In From The Suburbs To Do A Little Hippie-bashing.

All Forests Have Their Own Personality. I Don't Just Mean The Obvious Differences, Like How An English Woodland Is Different From A Central American Rain Forest, Or Comparing Tracts Of West Coast Redwoods To The Saguaro Forests Of The American Southwest... They Each Have Their Own Gossip, Their Own Sound, Their Own Rustling Whispers And Smells. A Voice Speaks Up When You Enter Their Acres That Can't Be Mistaken For One You'd Hear Anyplace Else, A Voice True To Those Particular Tress, Individual Rather Than Of Their Species.