If Death Itself Were To Die, Would

For Me, The Short Story Is Not A Character Sketch, A Mouse Trap, An Epiphany, A Slice Of Suburban Life. It Is The Flowering Of A Symbol Center. It Is A Poem Grafted Onto Sturdier Stock.

I Don't Know Myself, What To Do, Where To Go... I Lie In The Crack Of A Book For My Comfort... It's What The World Offers... Please Leave Me Alone To Dream As I Fancy.

As A Teacher, It's A Great Help To Be Teaching Philosophical Systems You Don't Believe. You Can Actually Do A Better Job Of Presenting Them If You Leave Your Beliefs At The Door.

For The Speedy Reader Paragraphs Become A Country The Eye Flies Over Looking For Landmarks, Reference Points, Airports, Restrooms, Passages Of Sex.

Of Course There Is Enough To Stir Our Wonder Anywhere; There's Enough To Love, Anywhere, If One Is Strong Enough, If One Is Diligent Enough, If One Is Perceptive, Patient, Kind Enough -- Whatever It Takes.