Man Must Shape His Tools Lest They

He Wants To Live On Through Something - And In His Case, His Masterpiece Is His Son. All Of Us Want That, And It Gets More Poignant As We Get More Anonymous In This World.

More Weight -giles Corey-

The Very Impulse To Write Springs From An Inner Chaos Crying For Order - For Meaning.

Rise Early. Write. Disappoint Your Sons. Read The Newspaper. Go To Bed Early. Success.

I’m A Writer, And Everything I Write Is Both A Confession And A Struggle To Understand Things About Myself And This World In Which I Live. This Is What Everyone’s Work Should Be-whether You Dance Or Paint Or Sing. It Is A Confession, A Baring Of Your Soul, Your Faults, Those Things You Simply Cannot Or Will Not Understand Or Accept. You Stumble Forward, Confused, And You Share. If You’re Lucky, You Learn Something.