You Are Not Wise Enough To Fear

I Am No Poet. I Do Not Love Words For The Sake Of Words. I Love Words For What They Can Accomplish. Similarly, I Am No Arithmetician. Numbers That Speak Only Of Numbers Are Of Little Interest To Me.

Right Now My Favorite Thing Is Working To Recall Our Absolute Shitbag Of A Governor. He's Been Screwing Up My State For More Than A Year. I Want Him Out.

She Reached Up And Lay Her Hand On My Cheek. "you Have The Sweetest Face," She Said, Looking At Me Dreamily. "it's Like The Perfect Kitchen." I Fought Not To Smile. This Was The Delirium. She'd Fade In And Out Of It Before The Profound Exhaustion Dragged Her Down Into Unconsciousness. If You See Someone Spouting Nonsense To Themselves In An Alleyway In Tarbean, Odds Are They're Not Actually Crazy, Just A Sweet-eater Deranged By Too Much Denner. "a Kitchen?" "yes," She Said. "everything Matches And The Sugar Bowl Is Right Where It Should Be.

Is There A Connection Between Language And Magic? Yes. Ten Times Yes. So Much Yes That It Almost Doesn't Bear Talking About. It's As Pointless That Arguing That The Sun Is Hot.

I Want A Magical Horse That Fits In My Pocket," Wil Said. "and A Ring Of Red Amber That Gives Me Power Over Demons. And An Endless Supply Of Cake.