The writer has to choose the right words to express his sentences, and then, once he has sealed the envelope, he has to place those thoughts in the hands of someone else,
When I see it lumbering down the mountain road like a tank . . . I flag it down like an old friend. I’ve waited on this corner every Friday since I can remember.
It doesn’t. What matters is what you make. Whether it’s a cake for bingo night or a costume for a saint or a wall of water-whatever you pour into this life is what makes you rich.
