Suspense Is One Of The

The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud.

Work Is Its Own Cure. You Have To Like It Better Than Being Loved.

Life Is The First Gift, Love Is The Second, And Understanding The Third.

I Stayed Under The Moon Too Long.i Am Silvered With Lust.dreams Flick Like Minnows Through My Eyes.my Voice Is Trees Tossing In The Wind.i Loose Myself Like A Flock Of Blackbirdsstorming Into Your Face.my Lightest Touch Leaves Blue Prints,bruises On Your Mind.desire Sandpapers Your Skinso Thin I Read The Veins And Arteriesmaps Of Routes I Will Traveltill I Lodge In Your Spine.the Night Is Our Fur.we Curl Inside It Licking.

The Real Writer Is One Who Really Writes. Talent Is An Invention Like Phlogiston After The Fact Of Fire. Work Is Its Own Cure. You Have To Like It Better Than Being Loved.