If? The Word Is When.

Kings Are Falling Like Leaves This Autumn.

Even The Sky Was Grey. Grey And Grey And Greyer. The Whole World Grey, Everywhere You Look, Everything Grey Except The Eyes Of The Bride. The Eyes Of The Bride Were Brown. Big And Brown And Full Of Fear.

Art Is Not A Democracy. People Don't Get To Vote On How It Ends.

I Worked Out Of Hollywood For 10 Years And I Had My Heart Broken Half A Dozen Times, So I Know All The Things That Can Go Wrong.

I Prefer My History Dead. Dead History Is Writ In Ink, The Living Sort In Blood.