Hi! Thanks for stopping by my profile. Basically, I love writing. I'm a theater major in college at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. I hope you are enjoying my stories, and that you'll follow me on tumblr if you do. Any promotion among the fandoms is greatly appreciated! If you like my stories, let them know!

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Other than that, have a great day :)

On Love

"If you see the magic in a fairy tale, you can face the future." -Danielle Steel

"Though you're not a beauty it is nevertheless quite true/there may be beautiful things in you." -Cabaret

On War

"The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic." -Joseph Stalin

"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." -Albert Einstein

On Life

Molly Mahoney: Now we wait.
Mr. Edward Magorium, Avid Shoe Wearer: No. We breathe. We pulse. We regenerate. Our hearts beat. Our minds create. Our souls ingest. 37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime. (Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium)

"If you are called to be a street sweeper, sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. Sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.'" -Martin Luther King

On Death

In any man who dies there dies with him
his first snow and kiss and fight...
Not people die but worlds die in them.
-Yevgeny Yevtushenko, "People"

Mr. Edward Magorium, Avid Shoe Wearer: When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He's written "He dies." That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is "He dies." It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with "He dies." And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words "He dies." but because of the life we saw prior to the words. I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died." (Mr Magorium's Wonder Emporium)

On Writing

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." -Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

"If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster." -Isaac Asimov

"The greatest part of being a writer is everyone knowing who you are, but no one knowing your face." -Sydney Berg

How Did You Die?
Edmund Vance Cook

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it.
And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what’s that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that’s disgrace.
The harder you’re thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts;
It’s how did you fight and why?

And though you be done to death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he’s slow or spry,
It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?