...it Was Imaginative People Who

There Are People Whose Eyes You Must Avoid, Whose Attention You Must Not Draw To Yourself. They Are Strange, Parasitic Creatures, Lost Souls Seeking To Stretch Across The Abyss And Make Fatal Contact With The Warm, Constant Flow Of Humanity. They Live In Pain, And Exist Only To Visit That Pain On Others. A Random Glance, The Momentary Lingering Of A Look, Is Enough To Give Them The Excuse That They Seek. Sometimes, It Is Better To Keep Your Eyes On The Gutter For The Fear That, By Looking Up, You Might Catch A Glimpse Of Them, Black Shapes Against The Sun, And Be Blinded Forever.

Each Man Dreams His Own Heaven.

You Can't Prove That Something Doesn't Exist. You Can Only Prove That Something Does Exist.

I Think The Act Of Reading Imbues The Reader With A Sensitivity Toward The Outside World That People Who Don't Read Can Sometimes Lack. I Know It Seems Like A Contradiction In Terms; After All Reading Is Such A Solitary, Internalizing Act That It Appears To Represent A Disengagement From Day-to-day Life. But Reading, And Particularly The Reading Of Fiction, Encourages Us To View The World In New And Challenging Ways...it Allows Us To Inhabit The Consciousness Of Another Which Is A Precursor To Empathy, And Empathy Is, For Me, One Of The Marks Of A Decent Human Being.

I Believe In Those Whom I Love And Trust. All Else Is Foolishness. This God Is As Empty As His Church. His Followers Choose To Attribute All Of Their Good Fortune To Him, But When He Ignores Their Pleas Or Leaves Them To Suffer, They Say Only That He Ignores Their Pleas Or Leaves Them To Suffer, They Say Only That He Is Beyond Their Understanding And Abandon Themselves To His Will. What Kind Of God Is That?