I Must Say Bernard Shaw Is Greatly

One Thing You Cannot Know: The Sudden Extinction Of Every Alternative, The Unexpected Crash Of The Iron Cataract. You Do Not Know What Hope Is, Until You Have Lost It. You Only Know What It Is Not To Hope: You Do Not Know What It Is To Have Hope Taken From You Or To Fling It Away, To Join The Legion Of The Hopeless Unrecognized By Other Men, Though Sometimes By Each Other.

He Who Was Living Is Now Dead We Who Were Living Are Now Dying With A Little Patience.

Sand. Everywhere. In The Bed, In The Shower, All Over The Floor. Grrrrr.

You Have Learned Enough To See That Cats Are Much Like You And Me.

Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal.