That's What Sons Do: Write

It Was A Silence That Heard Itself, Awful And Beautiful.

Ultimately, You Can Only Ever Write What You Know. It's Logically And Philosophically Impossible To Write What You Don't Know.

He Didn't Like It All That Much When He First Came - All The Rubbish And The Rush - But It Was Growing On Him, It Wasn't Half Bad. Coming To The City Was Like Entering A Tunnel, He Said, And Finding To Your Surprise That The Light At The End Didn't Matter; Sometimes In Fact The Tunnel Made The Light Tolerable.

Corrigan Told Me Once That Christ Was Quite Easy To Understand. He Went Where He Was Supposed To Go. He Stayed Where He Was Needed. He Took Little Or Nothing Along, A Pair Of Sandals, A Bit Of A Shirt, A Few Odds And Ends To Stave Off The Loneliness. He Never Rejected The World. If He Had Rejected It, He Would Have Been Rejecting Mystery. And If He Rejected Mystery, He Would Have Been Rejecting Faith.

She's Always Thought That One Of The Beauties Of New York Is That You Can Be From Anywhere And Within Moments Of Landing Its Yours.