He Laughed, Tried To Make

My Books Happen. They Tend To Blast In From Nowhere, Seize Me By The Throat, And Howl 'write Me! Write Me Now!' But They Rarely Stand Still Long Enough For Me To See What And Who They Are, Before They Hurtle Away Again. And So I Spend A Lot Of Time Running After Them, Like A Thrown Rider After An Escaped Horse, Saying 'wait For Me! Wait For Me!' And Waving My Notebook In The Air.

I've Always Been Fascinated By The Grassroots Folktale Level Of A Culture, And As A Storyteller, I Have To Follow What Seems To Be Leading Me On.

Friends You Will Have Need Of, For In You Two Worlds Meet. There Is No One On Both Sides With You, So You Must Learn To Take Your Own Counsel; And Not To Fear What Is Strange, If You Know It Also To Be True. —luthe

Tiny Fists Can Hurt Quite A Lot When They Hit You In The Face.

Oh, Why Does Compassion Weaken Us?' It Doesn't, Really...somewhere Where It All Balances Out-don't The Philosophers Have A Name For It, The Perfect Place, The Place Where The Answers Live?-if We Could Go There, You Could See It Doesn't.it Only Looks, A Little Bit, Like It Does, From Here, Like An Ant At The Foot Of An Oak Tree. He Doesn't Have A Clue That It's A Tree; It's The Beginning Of The Wall Round The World, To Him.