"Thirty years and a month ago, a beginning author met a young journalist in a Chinese Restaurant, and the two men became friends, and they wrote a book, and they managed to stay friends despite everything. Last night, the author died" Neil Gaiman "Everybody who reads his work would agree Death was one of his finest creations and Terry, in some way, has now shaken hands with one of his greatest ever creations." Sir Tony Robinson
Encircled by her arms as by a shell, she hears her being murmur, while forever he endures the outrage of his too pure image... Wistfully following their example, nature re-enters herself; contemplating its own sap, the flower becomes too soft, and the boulder hardens... It's the return of all desire that enters toward all life embracing itself from afar... Where does it fall? Under the dwindling surface, does it hope to renew a center
