Life's Too Slippery For Books,

Fear Comes With Imagination, It’s A Penalty, It’s The Price Of Imagination.

But The Face On The Pillow, Rosy In The Firelight, Is Certainly That Of Clarice Starling, And She Sleeps Deeply, Sweetly, In The Silence Of The Lambs.

The Worm That Destroys You Is The Temptation To Agree With Your Critics, To Get Their Approval.

We Can Only Learn So Much And Live.

Over This Odd World, This Half The World That's Dark Now, I Have To Hunt A Thing That Lives On Tears.