My Idea Of Hell Is To Be

Love Says, Mine. Love Says, I Could Eat You Up. Love Says, Stay As You Are, Be My Own Private Thing, Don't You Dare Have Ideas I Don't Share. Love Has Just Got To Gobble The Other, Bones And All, Crunch. I Don't Want To Do That. I Sure Don't Want It Done To Me!

I Think Having A Great Range Of Experiences In My Life Had Helped Me As A Writer, Particularly A Writer Of Fiction. I Have Known A Great Many Different Sorts Of People In Different Situations, And I Have A Notion How Very Well Of Badly People Can Behave In Times Of Stress Or Danger Or Violence.

I Think We Validate Our Lives Through Our Actions.

Purple As Tulips In May, Mauve Into Lush Velvet, Purple As The Stain Blackberries Leave On The Lips, On The Hands, The Purple Of Ripe Grapes Sunlit And Warm As Flesh.

One Of The Best Gifts You Can Give A Poet Is To Present Them With Field Guides - To Rocks, To Stars, To Birds, To Wildflowers, To Trees And Bushes, To Butterflies, To Reptiles And Amphibians. Because When You Look At Anything Long Enough To Be Able To Identify It, You See Far More Clearly And You Make A Tiny Beginning At Understanding The Life, The Place, The History Of That Bird Or Rock Or Mammal.