“I am persecuted because of my writings, I think, therefore, that I should write some more.”

“I write to make peace with the things I cannot control. I write to create red in a world that often appears black and white. I write to discover. I write to uncover. I write to meet my ghosts. I write to begin a dialogue. I write to imagine things differently and in imagining things differently perhaps the world will change. I write to honor beauty. I write to correspond with my friends. I write as a daily act of improvisation. I write because it creates my composure. I write against power and for democracy. I write myself out of my nightmares and into my dreams. I write in a solitude born out of community. I write to the questions that shatter my sleep. I write to the answers that keep me complacent. I write to remember. I write to forget….I write because I believe in words. I write because I do not believe in words. I write because it is a dance with paradox. I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in sand. I write because it belongs to the force of the moon: high tide, low tide. I write because it is the way I take long walks. I write as a bow to wilderness. I write because I believe it can create a path in darkness….write as ritual. I write because I am not employable. I write out of my inconsistencies. I write because then I do not have to speak. I write with the colors of memory. I write as a witness to what I have seen. I write as a witness to what I imagine….I write because it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words, to say the words, to touch the source, to be touched, to reveal how vulnerable we are, how transient we are. I write as though I am whispering in the ear of the one I love.”

“I write to discover. I write to uncover. I write to meet my ghosts... I write because it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words.”

“Why did I write? Because I found life unsatisfactory.”

“I would rather never make a penny on book sales and know that many had derived some fair pleasure from my writing, than to know that very few had ever taken a chance on my work. I certainly won't last forever, but I'd love to think that my imagination will continue to surface in the minds of others.”

“I know when my life is over my writings will live on, perhaps in a story or maybe a sweet love song. You see, I do not write for glory or to get anything for free. I just sit down and I write, because it makes so much sense to me.”

“I love my job. I love the pay!~I love it more and more each day.~I love my boss, he is the best!~I love his boss and all the rest.~I love my office and its location. I hate to have to go on vacation.~I love my furniture, drab and grey, and piles of paper that grow each day!~I think my job is swell, there's nothing else I love so well.~I love to work among my peers, I love their leers, and jeers, and sneers.~I love my computer and its software; I hug it often though it won't care.~I love each program and every file, I'd love them more if they worked a while. ~I'm happy to be here. I am. I am.~I'm the happiest slave of the Firm, I am.~I love this work. I love these chores.~I love the meetings with deadly bores.~I love my job - I'll say it again - I even love those friendly men.~Those friendly men who've come today, in clean white coats to take me away!!!!!”