Write The Unpublishable.. .and Then Publish It.

Think Of Being Curled Up And Floating In A Darkness. Even If You Could Think, Even If You Had An Imagination, Would You Ever Imagine Its Opposite, This Miraculous World The Asian Taoists Call The "ten Thousand Things"? And If The Darkness Just Got Darker? And Then You Were Dead? What Would You Care? How Would You Eve Know The Difference?

With Each Step My Heart Broke For The Person I Would Never Find, The Person Who'd Love Me.

All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Every Day Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.

All The Modern Verse Plays, They're Terrible; They're Mostly About The Poetry. It's More Important That The Play Is First.

Death Is The Mother Of Beauty.