Bewitched is half of everything.

We breathed the air of freedom without knowing the language or any person.

When sleep leaves the body like smoke and man, sated with secrets, drives the overworked nag of quarrel out of its stall, then the fire-breathing union begins anew . . .

To me, a fairy tale seems to have become reality.

I love speed. I love racing cars, whether it's on the streets or wherever. Don't tell the St. Louis police, though.

If we don't heal our own hood, who will?