If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Would Ride.

Death Should Be A Celebration. Like A Birthday. I Want To Go Up Like A Rocket When My Time Comes, And Fall Down In A Cloud Of Stars, And Hear Everyone Go: Ahh!

That Wind. I See It's Blowing Now. Furtive But Commanding, It Has Dictated Every Move We've Ever Made. My Mother Felt It, And So Do I - Even Here, Even Now - As It Sweeps Us Like Leaves Into His Backseat Corner, Dancing Us To Shreds Against The Stones. V'la L'bon Vent, V'a L'joli Vent. I Though We'd Silenced It For Good. But The Smallest Thing Can Wake The Wind@ A Word, A Sign, Even A Death. There's No Such Thing As A Trivial Thing. Everything Costs; It All Adds Up Until Finally The Balance Shifts And We're Gone Again, Back On The Road, Telling Ourselves - Well Maybe Next Time

Everything Comes Home, My Mother Used To Say; Every Word Spoken, Every Shadow Cast, Every Footprint In The Sand. It Can't Be Helped; It's Part Of What Makes Us Who We Are.

I Can Write Absolutely Anywhere. All I Need Is A Laptop.

I Liked Her Better For Showing A Little Spirit.