I Went To War. .... I Survived,

What Is It?" She Asked. "i'm Looking For Your Wings. You Are My Guardian Angel, Aren't You?" "i'm Afraid Not," She Replied, Her Cheeks Dimplingwith A Wry Smile. "there's Too Much Of The Devil In Me For That." "just How Much Devil," I Grinned, "are We Talking About Here?

Its A Fact Of Being In Love That We Often Pay No Attention Whatsoever To The Substance Of What A Lover Says, While Being Intoxicated To Ecstasy By The Way It's Said. I Was In Love With Her Eyes, But I Didn't Read Them. I Loved Her Voice, But I Didn't Really Hear The Fear & The Anguish In It.

I Think That It Is A Part Of Growing Up, Learning To Control Our Suffering. I Think That When We Grow Up, And Learn That Happiness Is Rare, And Passes Quickly, We Become Disillusioned And Hurt. And How Much We Suffer Is A Mark Of How Much We Have Been Hurt By This Realisation. Suffering, You See, Is A Kind Of Anger. We Rage Against The Unfairness, The Injustice Of Our Sad And Sorry Lot.

I Don't Know What Frightens Me More

Justice Is Not Only The Way We Punish Those Who Do Wrong. It Is Also The Way We Try To Save Them.