I was a fine arts major in college, and a painter for many years. And I found that, like writing, art is very similar.

Lying on the ceiling. Refusing to go to school. Not opening up to me. Climbing water towers. "No, she's all right."

So either your a vampire or a perv. Which is it?

You need help, and that's what books are for.

No, I'm too busy trying to deflect your Power of Stupidity. But I don't think I'm strong enough.

Flying or falling, it's up to us.

Maybe there isn't a meaning to life. Maybe there's only a meaning to living.