He Lies Like A Book.

Very Few Women Wait For Mr. Right. Most Women Take The First And Worst Mr. Wrong.

My Plays Are Made Up Of Long Monologues, Which Is Similar To Prose Working With The Language

After All, When You Take A Walk You're After Solitude, And If The Solitude Won't Come To You, You Must Go To It.

Literature That Keeps Employing New Linguistic And Formal Modes Of Expression To Draft A Panorama Of Society As A Whole While At The Same Time Exposing It, Tearing The Masks From Its Face - For Me That Would Be Deserving Of An Award.

Every Day, A Piece Of Music, A Short Story, Or A Poem Dies Because Its Existence Is No Longer Justified In Our Time. And Things That Were Once Considered Immortal Have Become Mortal Again, No One Knows Them Anymore. Even Though They Deserve To Survive.