Whatever She Saw Beyond The

It's Very Simple. If You Learn How To Write Well, To Write With Depth, Cream Will Rise To The Top. You'll Get Published. But, There Is No Secret.

Happiness Doesn't Lie In Conspicuous Consumption And The Relentless Amassing Of Useless Crap. Happiness Lies In The Person Sitting Beside You And Your Ability To Talk To Them. Happiness Is Clear-headed Human Interaction And Empathy. Happiness Is Home. And Home Is Not A House-home Is A Mythological Conceit. It Is A State Of Mind. A Place Of Communion And Unconditional Love. It Is Where, When You Cross Its Threshold, You Finally Feel At Peace.

I Have A Lot Of Rage About Things That Didn't Happen To Me, Tied Up With Watching An Immigrant, Working-class Father Struggle To Make His Way Through The World - And Seeing How Society Was Modeled To Keep Him In His Place.

The World Does Not Have Tidy Endings. The World Does Not Have Neat Connections. It Is Not Filled With Epiphanies That Work Perfectly At The Moment That You Need Them.

It Had Occurred To Sean Once - On A Bender About Ten Years Before With Some Buddies, Sean And A Bloodstream Full Of Bourbon Turning Philosophical - That Maybe They Had Gotten In That Car. All Three Of Them. And What They Now Thought Of As Their Life Was Just A Dream State. That All Three Of Them Were, In Reality, Still Eleven-year-old Boys Trapped In Some Cellar, Imagining What They'd Become If They Ever Escaped And Grew Up.