Children are like glaciers.
Not worth a good clean bullet.
Beaten with a shin-bone.
Swallowed by the ovum.
Dumping in the fuel.
Capable of working magic.
The best thing you didn't write.
If you kiss them, what do they taste like?
Writing with my own blood.
Re-arrangers and anxious malcontents.
Precisely the type of rich ambiguity.
Unique feelings of eeriness and nostalgia.