Only Peons Made Excusses For Themselves She

Dawn Tinted The Darkness Like Water Ink.

I Imagined Kandinsky's Mind, Spread Out All Over The World, And Then Gathered Together. Everyone Having Only A Piece Of The Puzzle. Only In A Show Like This Could You See The Complete Picture, Stack The Pieces Up, Hold Them To The Light, See How It All Fit Together. It Made Me Hopeful, Like Someday My Life Would Make Sense Too, If I Could Just Hold All The Pieces Together At The Same Time.

Writing Mirrors The Interior Self. You Know, Any Book Is Like The Perfect Blueprint Of The Psyche Of The Author.

We Read So That We Can Be Moved By A New Way Of Looking At Things.

A Cliché Is Like A Coin That Has Been Handled Too Much. Once Language Has Been Overly Handled, It No Longer Leaves A Clear Imprint.