Seclusion among the ferns of what seems like a mystical forest by flourishing elms and and oaks. Looking up at twilight's dwellings up above, where the stars sit on their perches to await dawn... That lunar crescent forever hangs there, just another star that seems so much closer, half covered by what you sit upon right then. That is a true paradise. Just to let yourself escape to those divine heavens...
A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it. — Roald Dahl
