
The human race is filled with passion, therefore I cannot be subjected to write for the pretty, delightful audience, but the fervent whose fires burn within.
Words are extraordinary.
A writer is a PHOTOGRAPHER
of impressions.
-Ecrire c'est Vivre-
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The fool will runneth his mouth while the wise man will look from the hill and laugh knowing one cannot chase what is hidden without wisdom, instruction, and understanding.
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Words must be expressed with elegance, gravity, and severity. If not, we've failed as writers.
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One cannot write intensely if the mind's dampened with toffee.
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The madman's ridiculous notion to dip one's fingers in blood is remarkable, yet understood.
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Man is but a comedy, performing a dance fit for the insane.
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The dead walk amongst this ungracious world, glancing at the fools who inhabit it.
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Darker than the creatures that haunt one's dreams and more deadly than their reach are the minds of men upon sleep.
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Writing is a bleeding art for only a madman would spend countless hours pouring his soul to the world to have it ignored by the masses, and only a madman would continue this ridiculous Melodia as if driven by some unseen demon.
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His hair was like the setting sun, wild and free, like his spirit. I never spoke, but observed, and in this distance, I named him Garo, The Spirit of the Sun. He ran the hills untamed, and though he did not know it, he was my happiness.
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Her hands were as gentle as a newborn's, not a mark on them. You can tell she's never worked a day in her life. I never cared much for women like that; all they did was judge others on their ways of dressing. My hands might have been dried and cut, but I had knowledge, I had skill, and that was something the world lacked.
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It is perfect, not diminished in any way. At times, it can be the reason. A line from a book, or a light that flickers, operating as a key. Undivided, untouched, peerless in every way.
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Little power does the fool haveth which runneth their mouth.
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To walk aimlessly is not a bad thing.