I was always so relieved that anyone wants to publish anything I've written.
There was a hysteria in there, certainly, but there was also the exhaustion of someone who had managed, somehow, to believe several dozen impossible things in the last twenty-four hours, without ever getting a proper breakfast.
What do I do now?” “I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role.
Even the proudest spirit can be broken with love.
From meetings and partings none can ever escape. Nor from magic.
I don't know much more than I did when I was alive. Most of the stuff I know now that I didn't know then I can't put into words.