I Have No Plans To

This Was The Void. Not Blackness, Not Nothingness. This Was What Lay Beneath The Thinly Painted Scrim Of Reality.

I Was Writing The Kind Of Comic That Would Make Me, At Age 26 Or 27, Go Down To A Comic Book Store Every Month And Spend My $2. That Was My Starting Point. I Wanted To Write A Comic That I Would Read. And That's Still My Agenda.

What Power Would Hell Have If Those Imprisoned Were Not Able To Dream Of Heaven?

When You Dream, Sometimes You Remember. When You Wake, You Always Forget.

Adults Should Not Weep, I Knew. They Did Not Have Mothers Who Would Comfort Them.