Mom Had The Kind Of Love For Her That You Could Feel, Like It Was Part Of The Atmosphere
With Shakespeare And Poetry, A New World Was Born. New Dreams, New Desires, A Self Consciousness Was Born. I Desired To Know To Know Myself In Terms Of The New Standards Set By These Books.
They Say Life Is All About Connecting, Like That's A Good Thing. But When Brain And Eyes Are Lining Up You Know Different.
What Do You Get Out Of Hating People, Out Of Having This Bitterness In Your Heart Always?
Many Have Changed So Much That They Have Lost The Magic Of The Dream That Carried Them On Their Own Bootstraps.
You Don't Have To Be A Good Person To Be A Good Writer--history Shows It's Better If You're Not--but You Have To Understand Your Badness.
To Live With The Conscious Knowledge Of The Shadow Of Uncertainty, With The Knowledge That Disaster Or Tragedy Could Strike At Any Time; To Be Afraid And To Know And Acknowledge Your Fear, And Still To Live Creatively And With Unstinting Love: That Is To Live With Grace.
To Get From People You Had To Give A Piece Of Yourself, A Real Piece That Mattered. Just Being Nice Was Not Enough.
The Words Dripped On My Consciousness, Sank Into My Being, And Carried Me Away To The Magic Long Ago Of Once Upon A Time.
