In The Name Of Christ,

As They Die, The Ones We Love, We Lose Our Witnesses, Our Watchers, Those Who Know And Understand The Tiny Little Meaningless Patterns, Those Words Drawn In Water With A Stick. And There Is Nothing Left But The Endless Flow.

I'm Usually Working On My Own Mythology, My Own Realm Of Created Characters. Stories In Mythology Inspire Me, Though I May Not Be Conscious Of It.

Pride Is The Parent Of Destruction; Pride Eats The Mind And The Heart And The Soul Alive.

The Human Heart Is My School.

I Didn’t Look To The Shore Much After This First Long And Memorable Glimpse. I Looked Up At Heaven And Her Court Of Mythical Creatures Fixed Forever In The All Powerful And Inscrutable Stars. Ink Black Was The Night Beyond Them, And They So Like Jewels That Old Poetry Came Back To Me, The Sound Even Of Hymns Sung Only By Men.