Your hair is winter fire January embers My heart burns there, too.

Let evil wait for the day on which it must fall.

Part of my function as a writer is to dream awake. And that usually happens. If I sit down to write in the morning, in the beginning of that writing session and the ending of that session, I'm aware that I'm writing. I'm aware of my surroundings. It's like shallow sleep on both ends, when you go to bed and when you wake up. But in the middle, the world is gone and I'm able to see better.

We have once again succeeded in destroying what we could not create.

The redness was going out of the light now, the remains of the day were a fading pink, the color of wild roses.

Don't let the door hitcha where the good Lord splitcha.

It means that no blue ribbon is forever. Someday - if the world doesn't explode itself in the meantime - someone will run a two-minute mile in the Olympics. It may take a hundred years or a thousand, but it will happen. Because there is no ultimate blue ribbon. There is zero, and there is eternity, and there is mortality, but there is no ultimate.