Dreams Say What They Mean, But They

During The Act Of Writing I Have Told Myself Something That I Didn't Know I Knew.

The Race Of Children Possesses Magically Sagacious Powers.

You're Supposed To Get Tired Planting Bulbs. But It's An Agreeable Tiredness.

There Are Two Kinds Of People. One Kind, You Can Just Tell By Looking At Them At What Point They Congealed Into Their Final Selves. It Might Be A Very Nice Self, But You Know You Can Expect No More Surprises From It. Whereas, The Other Kind Keep Moving, Changing... They Are Fluid. They Keep Moving Forward And Making New Trysts With Life, And The Motion Of It Keeps Them Young. In My Opinion, They Are The Only People Who Are Still Alive. You Must Be Constantly On Your Guard Against Congealing.

Some Things Arrive In Their Own Mysterious Hour, On Their Own Terms And Not Yours, To Be Seized Or Relinquished Forever.