I Don't Really Plan. I'm Almost Intuitive

The Significant Owl Hoots In The Night.

The Rising Sun Managed To Peek Around The Vast Column Of Smoke That Forever Rose From Ankh-morpork, City Of Cities, Illustrating Almost Up To The Edge Of Space That Smoke Means Progress Or, At Least, People Setting Fire To Things.

Privilege (to The Privileged) Means Having Private Laws.

But Then Science Is Nothing But A Series Of Questions That Lead To More Questions.

The Only Superstition I Have Is That I Must Start A New Book On The Same Day That I Finish The Last One, Even If It's Just A Few Notes In A File. I Dread Not Having Work In Progress.