Children Are Caterpillars And Adults Are Butterflies.

The Truth's Not Pretty Of Course. No One Likes To Look It In The Face.

All Books Are In Safe Hands With Me. They're My Children, My Inky Children, And I Look After Them Well. I Keep The Sunlight Away From Their Pages, I Dust And Protect Them From Hungry Hookworms And Grubby Human Fingers.

Let's Be Off Before He Gets His Great Horsey Teeth Into My Poor Lines Of Verse!

My Wife Loves Written Words ... You Know, Words That Stick To Parchment And Paper Like Dead Flies, And It Seems My Father Felt The Same - But I Want To Hear Words! Remember That When You Are Looking For The Right Words: You Must Ask Yourself What They Sound Like! Glowing With Passion, Dark With Sorrow, Sweet With Love, That's What I Want. - Cosimo

Desperate? So What? I'm Desperate, Too!" Fenoglio Snapped At Her. "my Story Is Foundering In Misfortune, And These Hands Here," He Said Holding Them Out To Her, "don't Want To Write Anymore! I'm Afraid Of Words Meggie! 'once They Were Like Honey, Now They're Poison, Pure Poison! But What Is A Writer Who Doesn't Love Words Anymore? What Have I Come To? This Story Is Devouring Me, Crushing Me, And I'm It's Creator!