Death Steals Everything Except Our Stories.

Beware, O Wanderer, The Road Is Walking Too.

I Have Closely Noted That People Who Watch A Great Deal Of Tv Never Again Seem Able To Adjust To The Actual Pace Of Life. The Speed Of The Passing Images Becomes The Speed The Aspire To And They Seem To Develop An Impatience And Boredom With Anything Else.

It Is Easy To Forget That In The Main We Die Only Seven Times More Slowly Than Our Dogs.

Fate Has Never Ladled Out Hardship Very Evenly, And This Frequently Trips Our Often Infantile Sense Of Justice.

Wherever We Go We Do Harm, Forgiving Ourselves As Wheels Do Cement For Wearing Each Other Out. We Set This House On Fire, Forgetting That We Live Within. (from "to A Meadowlark," For M.l. Smoker)