There’s something obscene in this love of the past which ends in breadlines and dugouts. Something obscene about this spiritual racket which permits an idiot to sprinkle holy water over Big Berthas and dreadnoughts and high explosives. Every man with a bellyful of the classics is an enemy to the human race.

Write your  pain in pencil, erase them with smile.

Sometimes you got to let it go of the people who constantly hurt you again and again cause they will be the reason  of you believing love is pain.

Characters, as most writers understand, are truly developed through their relationships with others.

Written By Orson Scott Card

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