"Death's a capricious thing, innit?" "Yes. Yes, she is."
I learned to write by writing.
Small children believe themselves to be gods, or some of them do, and they can only be satisfied when the rest of the world goes along with their way of seeing things.
Every hour wounds. The last one kills.
What do I do now?โ โI donโt know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role.
Whatever it is you're scared of doing, Do it.