I'm always in these situations where I forget to separate what is pitched as an idea to the fact that I'm actually going to have to execute it.
A changeableness, too, as if beneath my visible face there was another, having second thoughts.
Biology gives you a brain. Life turns it into a mind.
You never get over it, but you get to where it doesn't bother you so much.
I'm hopefully making the reader feel a lot about the characters and then about their own life.
There comes a moment, when you get lost in the woods, when the woods begin to feel like home.
It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused. Sitting on the porch, you could feel it: the air wishing it was water.
Do your heart and head keep pace? When does hoary Love expire, When do frosts put out the fire? Can its embers burn below All that chill December snow?
We are infected by our own misunderstandin g of how our own minds work.
I make love to the beautiful Maria and you make love to your stick!
Life is not long at all, never long enough, but days are very long indeed.