I Dislike Pastiche; It Attracts Attention To

[margaret] Thatcher Could Fake Her Class Background, But She Couldn't Fake The Quality Of Her Mind.

Sometimes Peace Looks Like War, You Cannot Tell Them Apart.

Over The City Lies The Sweet, Rotting Odor Of Yesterday's Unrecollected Sins.

The Weight Of The Old World Is Stifling, And Trying To Shovel Its Weight Off Your Life Is Tiring Just To Think About. The Constant Shuttling Of Opinions Is Tiring, And The Shuffling Of Papers Across Desks, The Chopping Of Logic And The Trimming Of Attitudes. There Must, Somewhere, Be A Simpler, More Violent World.

At New Year's He Had Given Anne A Present Of Silver Forks With Handles Of Rock Crystal. He Hopes She Will Use Them To Eat With, Not To Stick In People.