It's not what I'd want for at my funeral. When I die, I just want them to plant me somewhere warm. And then when the pretty women walk over my grave I would grab their ankles, like in that movie.

We have the right, and the obligation, to tell old stories in our own ways, because they are our stories.

I watch my heart disappearing into her rosebud mouth. My Valentine's jest somehow seems less funny.

My ideal reader is me. And yes, my ideal reader comes with me and is forgiving.

Words can wound, and wounds can heal.

Walk any path in Destiny's garden, and you will be forced to choose, not once but many times.

The cat wrinkled its nose and managed to look unimpressed. "Calling cats," it confided, "tends to be a rather overrated activity. Might as well call a whirlwind.