Are not we all a bit of Cyrano?

Actually, I am, somewhat. Iv'e always been fairly courageous, a bit of a poet, and I've had my embarrassing bouts with ugliness. But the scars that are left from the deep wounds of cruelty never diminish. They can be covered up, even forgotten now and then. But they are always there.

I think that's what makes writers write. The outlet is the page, the motivation is the pain of life, and the words, the words are the weapons with which we avenge ourselves to the world.

"Bow to me and die, thou cruel and haggard existence, for in the end, it is you who shall stain my blade."

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