I Try To Make My

If You Are Not For Yourself, Who Will Be For You? If You Are Only For Yourself, What Are You? If Not Now, When?

Having Grown Up In Oklahoma When It Was One Of The Last States Which Prohibited Liquor, I Grew Up With War On Drugs, Where Every Teenager Knew Who The Bootleggers Were

Thoughts, And Words That Spring From Them, Bend The Individual's Reality. To Speak Of Death Is To Invite It. To Think Of Sorrow Is To Produce It.

A Writer Is Like A Bag Lady Going Through Life With A Sack And A Pointed Stick Collecting Stuff.

Everything Is Connected. The Wing Of The Corn Beetle Affects The Direction Of The Wind, The Way The Sand Drifts, The Way The Light Reflects Into The Eye Of Man Beholding His Reality. All Is Part Of Totality, And In This Totality Man Finds His Hozro, His Way Of Walking In Harmony, With Beauty All Around Him.