"The young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself (…) He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands." – William Faulkner, 1949.


My griefs grieve on universal bones and leave indelible scars on the canvas of my art. It is my desire to convey the greatness not of the glands but of the human heart to the public in the stories I tell.