Folks with most to complain about seldom complain most.

Three or four times only in my youth did I glimpse the Joyous Isles, before they were lost to fogs, depressions, cold fronts, ill winds, and contrary tides... I mistook them for adulthood. Assuming they were a fixed feature in my life's voyage, I neglected to record their latitude, their longitude, their approach. Young ruddy fool. What wouldn't I give now for a never-changing map of the ever-constant ineffable? To possess, as it were, an atlas of clouds.

Write something every single day, even if it's just three lines. And it doesn't matter if it's any good - just write something every day.

'Y' is about the weakest letter of all. 'Y' can't make up its mind if it's a vowel or a consonant, can it?

Perhaps all human interaction is about wanting and getting.

The act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.

Human hunger birthed the Civlize, but human hunger killed it too.