No One Escapes The Wilderness On The

The Secret Is Not To Write About What You Love Best, But About What You, Alone, Love At All.

I Can't Dance Anymore. Total Knee Replacements. I Can't Do Anything Anymore.

Every Live Thing Is A Survivor On A Kind Of Extended Emergency Bivouac.

Novels Written With Film Contracts In Mind Have A Faint But Unmistakable, And Ruinous, Odor.

Ecstasy, I Think, Is A Soul's Response To The Waves Holiness Makes As It Nears.