I Mean Maybe I Was Holding All

I Know What The Fear Is. The Fear Is Not For What Is Lost. What Is Lost Is Already In The Wall. What Is Lost Is Already Behind The Locked Doors. The Fear Is For What Is Still To Be Lost.

The Fancy That Extraterrestrial Life Is By Definition Of A Higher Order Than Our Own Is One That Soothes All Children, And Many Writers.

The Wind Shows Us How Close To The Edge We Are.

Hand That On Parting Squeezes Your Shoulder, Salutes The Small Of Your Back.

Writers Are Only Rarely Likable.