Clothes Make The Body Both Mysterious And

Always Late: Thus I Make You The Prisoner Of My Freedom.

Posterity--the Forlorn Child Of Nineteenth Century Optimism--grows Ever Harder To Conceive.

Cure For An Obsession: Get Another One.

The Poor Live Slow And Hard; The Rich, Fast And Easy. The Rest Of Us Shuffle Along As We May.

Ultimately, Blind Faith Is The Only Kind.