I Have Never Understood Why

Sometimes I Get So Tired Of Trying To Convince Him That I Love Him And Shall Love Him For Ever. He Pounces On My Words Like A Barrister And Twists Them. I Know He Is Afraid Of That Desert Which Would Be Around Him If Our Love Were To End, But He Can't Realise That I Feel Exactly The Same. What He Says Aloud, I Say To Myself Silently And Write It Here.

A Brain Is Only Capable Of What It Could Conceive, Andit Couldnt Concieve What It Hasnt Experienced

Had Shakespeare Listened To The News Of Duncans Death In A Tavern Or Heard The Knocking On His Own Bedroom Door After He Had Finished The Writing Of Macbeth?

Writing Is A Form Of Therapy; Sometimes I Wonder How All Those Who Do Not Write, Compose Or Paint Can Manage To Escape The Madness, Melancholia, The Panic And Fear Which Is Inherent In A Human Situation.

A Ruling Passion Gives To A Shelf Of Novels The Unity Of A System.