As A Writer, One Is Busy With

If Any Of You On Your Journeys See Her-shout To Me, Whistle...he Sang, And It Became A Habit For Audiences To Shout And Whistle In Response To Those Lines. There Was Nowhere He Could Hide In Such A Song That Had All Of Its Doors And Windows Open, So That He Could Walk Out Of It Artlessly, The Antiphonal Responses Blending With Him As If He Were No Longer On Stage.

I Have To Teach Myself Not To Read Too Much Into Everything. It Comes From Too Long Having To Read Into Hardly Anything At All.

Love Is So Small It Can Tear Itself Through The Eye Of A Needle

Don't We Forgive Everything Of A Lover? We Forgive Selfishness, Desire, Guile. As Long As We Are The Motive For It...there Are Some European Words You Can Never Translate Properly Into Another Language.

I Think Precision In Writing Goes Hand In Hand With Not Trying To Say Everything. You Try And Say Two-thirds, So The Reader Will Involve Himself Or Herself.