...for the first time in my life, writing was hard. The problem was the teaching...by most Friday afternoons I felt as if I'd spent the week with jumper cables clamped to my brain.
It's better to be good than evil, but one achieves goodness at a terrific cost.
Time slowed and reality bent; on and on the eggman went.
Little by little, writers develop their own styles, each as unique as a fingerprint.
Sometimes loving eyes don't see what they don't want to see.
I can remember being home from school with tonsillitis and writing stories in bed to pass the time.