It Wasn't That I Had

I Have Dictated Stories From An Airport After Writing The Story Out In Longhand On The Plane That I Got From Phone Interviews And Then Was Applauded By Editors For 'working Magic.

Every Life Deserves A Certain Amount Of Dignity, No Matter How Poor Or Damaged The Shell That Carries It.

Momma Kept A Garden, Which Sounds Romantic To People Who Have Never Held A Hoe

You Do Not Hate The Time You Waste; It Evokes A Much More Passive Emotion Than That. You Only Wish You Had It Back, Like A Quarter In An Unlucky Slot Machine.

But I Hope I Will Never Have A Life That Is Not Surrounded By Books, By Books That Are Bound In Paper And Cloth And Glue, Such Perishable Things For Ideas Have Lasted Thousands Of Years . . . I Hope I Am Always Walled In By The Very Weight And Breadth And Clumsy, Inefficient, Antiquated Bulk Of Them, Hope That I Spend My Last Days On This Earth Arranging And Rearranging Them On Thrones Of Good, Honest Pine, Oak, And Mahogany, Because I Just Like To Look At Their Covers, And Dream Of The Promise Of The Great Stories Inside.