We have an obligation to make things beautiful. Not to leave the world uglier than we found it, not to empty the oceans, not to leave our problems for the next generation.

Birds are the last of the dinosaurs. Tiny velociraptors with wings. Devouring defenseless wiggly things and, and nuts, and fish, and, and other birds. They get the early worms. And have you ever watched a chicken eat? They may look innocent, but birds are, well, they're vicious.

Partly because I get such astonishingly nice fans.

Words can wound, and wounds can heal.

If you, as a parent, raise your children well, they won't need you anymore. If you did it properly, they go away.

Set your fantasies in the here and now and then, if challenged, claim to be writing Magical Realism.

There is a madness, yes, this is true. Few mortals possess it, the willingness to step away from the protection of sanity. To walk into the wild wood of madness...