I Simply Love Writing Good Stories, That's

Cassandra Wondered At The Mind's Cruel Ability To Toss Up Flecks Of The Past. Why, As She Neared Her Life's End, Her Grandmother's Head Should Ring With The Voices Of People Long Since Gone. Was It Always This Way? Did Those With Passage Booked On Death's Silent Ship Always Scan The Dock For Faces Of The Long-departed?

Quite Simply The Book And I Were Meant To Be Together.

Ah, Well. Life's Too Short For Moderation, Wouldn't You Say?

There’s Something About Hospital Walls; Though Only Made Of Bricks And Plaster, When You’re Inside Them The Noise, The Reality Of The Teeming City Beyond, Disappears; It’s Just Outside The Door, But It Might As Well Be A Magical Land Far, Far Away.

Oh, There Was Harm Indeed For A Young Lady Flattered By The Brief Attentions Of A Handsome Man.