"But once in a while there's a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, 'I will not let you go until you set me, in words, on paper.'" – Richard Bach
…let me sit in the middle of everything I don’t understand. Let me live in a tree like we always wanted. Let me just breathe and exist; let my cells grow and expand, become strong and resilient but soft and worn, like water-tumbled rocks in my blood.