If seeing her an hour before her lastWeak cough into all blackness I could yetBe held by chalk-white walls

To live at all is miracle enough.

If seeing her an hour before her lastWeak cough into all blackness I could yetBe held by chalk-white

I am too rich already, for my eyes mint

Here, are the stiffening hills, here, the rich cargoCongealed in the dark arteries, Old veinsThat hold Glamorgan's blood.The midnight miner in the secret seams, Limb, life, and

The greatest sacred sayings

That's what happens with writing. Ingredients bubble and cook. Material becomes substance.

May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep. (Leafpool to Ashfur, page 1)

The dog is dressed just like me at the climax of my act.

You do it a day at a time. You write as well as you can, you put it in the mail, you leave it under submission, you never leave it at home.

If your opponent cannot do anything active, then don't rush the position; instead you should let him sit there, suffer, and beg you for a draw

I look at it [Scream movie] and think, wow, I can't believe I wrote that at such a young age. I also look at it and go, ohhh ouch, that dialogue, whoa.

For a young artist to really make it and make money is a lot more difficult these days.

I don't particularly think marriage is a sane thing.

It's natural to me that someone who loved that type of music or that type of spectacle would copy it, to do something, a video. It seems the most natural thing in the world to me.