A Clock Is Not Time; It's Numbers

I Am Infected With Life And Will Die Of It In Time.

You Pile Of Stones, You Waste, You Desolation, I'll Stuff You With Misery Till It Comes Out Of Your Eyes. I'll Change Your Heart Into Green Grass, And All You Love Into A Sheep. I'll Turn You Into A Bad Poet With Dreams.

The Tune Was Wailing And Mournful, Almost Flagrantly So, And The Total Effect Was Of A Heartbroken Piccolo Being Parted Forever From Its Bagpipe Lover.

What Do Men Know? Because They Have Seen No Unicorns For A While Does Not Mean We Have All Vanished.

Marveling At His Own Boldness, He Said Softly, "i Would Enter Your Sleep If I Could, And Guard You There, And Slay The Thing That Hounds You, As I Would If It Had The Courage To Face Me In Fair Daylight. But I Cannot Come In Unless You Dream Of Me.