But It's Sunday, Mr. Bell. Clocks Are

You Can’t Give Your Heart To A Wild Thing.

I Don't Use A Typewriter, I Write Longhand, With A Pencil. Essentially I'm A Horizontal Writer. I Think Better When I'm Lying Down.

Clocks Indeed Must Have Their Sacrifice: What Is Death But An Offering To Time And Eternity?

Are The Dead As Lonesome As The Living?

...of All Things This Was The Saddest, That Life Goes On: If One Leaves One's Lover, Life Should Stop For Him, And If One Disappears From The World, Then The World Should Stop, Too: And It Never Did. And That Was The Real Reason For Most People Getting Up In The Morning: Not Because It Would Matter But Because It Wouldn't.