A Broken Heart Is Never A Tragedy.

What Would The Daughters Of The Rich Do With Themselves If The Poor Ceased To Exist?

The Kind Of Power Mothers Have Is Enormous.

His Touch Both Consoles And Devastates Me; I Feel My Heart Pulse, Then Wither, Naked As A Stone On The Roaring Mattress While The Lovely, Moony Night Slides Through The Window To Dapple The Flanks Of This Innocent Who Makes Cages To Keep The Sweet Birds In. Eat Me, Drink Me; Thirsty, Cankered, Goblin-ridden, I Go Back And Back To Him To Have His Fingers Strip The Tattered Skin Away And Clothe Me In His Dress Of Water, This Garment That Drenches Me, Its Slithering Odour, Its Capacity For Drowning.

I Haven't Changed Much, Over The Years. I Use Less Adjectives, Now, And Have A Kinder Heart, Perhaps.

To Pin Your Hopes Upon The Future Is To Consign Those Hopes To A Hypothesis, Which Is To Say, A Nothingness. Here And Now Is What We Must Contend With.