the best books have interesting stories, chalked full of symbolism and figurative language and everything else those high school english teachers made you hate.  but even the greatest books can be ripped, pulled, slashed apart…analyzed so much that the themes get repetitive and dull.  or maybe you pick one up, and it intrigues you throughout, but in the end, you don’t really know what it all meant.  you still got something out of it, eh?  or at least you try.  but then there’s that annoying question again…what’s more important, the artist’s intent or the audience’s perception? 

“inside every person is a drama”