All The Modern Verse Plays, They're Terrible;

Sometimes I Heard Voices Muttering In My Head, And A Lot Of The Time The World Seemed To Smolder Around Its Edges. But I Was In A Little Better Physical Shape Every Day, I Was Getting My Looks Back, And My Spirits Were Rising, And This Was All In All A Happy Time For Me. All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.

This Wasn't The Sea Of The Inexorable Horizon And Smashing Waves, Not The Sea Of Distance And Violence, But The Sea Of The Etenally Leveling Patience And Wetness Of Water. Whether It Comes To You In A Storm Or In A Cup, It Owns You--we Are More Water Than Dust. It Is Our Origin And Our Destination.

Death Is The Mother Of Beauty.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.

With Each Step My Heart Broke For The Person I Would Never Find, The Person Who'd Love Me.