Writing, At Its Best, Is A Lonely

I Am So In Love With You That There Isn’t Anything Else.

Tell Me Some True Things About Fighting.''tell Me You Love Me.''i Love You,' The Girl Said. 'you Can Publish It In The Gazzettino If You Like. I Love Your Hard, Flat Body And Your Strange Eyes That Frighten Me When They Become Wicked. I Love Your Hand And All Your Other Wounded Places.

Religion Is Like An Ice Cold Whiskey On A Hot Day.

My Only Regret In Life Is That I Did Not Drink More Wine.

If A Writer Stops Observing, He Is Finished.