I Always Write A Story In One

Life Is A Game Of Piquet Played In A Bramble Bush In Very Bad Weather.

Death Cancels Our Engagements, But It Does Not Affect The Consequences Of Our Acts In Life.

I Want To Go And See The World. I Want To Know The World Like The Palm Of My Hand.

Each Generation Must Get On The Same Old Merry-go-round, Only Disguised In A Fresh Coat Of Paint.

. . . All That She Had Had, And All That She Had Missed, Were Lost Together, And Were Twice Lost In This Landslide Of Remembered Losses.