It's an illusion I've noticed before-- words on a page are like oxygen to a petrol engine, firing up ghosts. It only lasts while the words are in your head. After you put down the paper or pen, the pistons fall lifeless again.

Please come back soon. The window is always open.

God knows what I thought! Your brain does amazing acrobatics when it doesn't want to believe something.

You can't just sit in a corner weeping or you'll die.

I sometimes think young people are not given nearly enough credit for their ability to appreciate literary flourish.

It's an illusion I've noticed before-- words on a page are like oxygen to a petrol engine, firing up ghosts. It only lasts while the words are in your head. After you put down the paper or pen, the pistons fall lifeless again.

Five years of destruction and mayhem, lives lost everywhere, shortages of food and fuel and clothing - and the insane mind behind it just urges us all on and on to more destruction. And we all keep playing.