I Wish I Knew How To Quit

Anyway, There's Something Wrong With Everybody And It's Up To You To Know What You Can Handle.

Their Silence Comfortable. Something Unfolding. But What? Not Love, Which Wrenched And Wounded. Not Love, Which Came Only Once.

We Face Up To Awful Things Because We Can't Go Around Them, Or Forget Them. The Sooner You Get It Over With, The Sooner You Say 'yes, It Happened, And There's Nothing I Can Do About It,' The Sooner You Can Get On With Your Own Life. You've Got Children To Bring Up. So You've Got To Get Over It. What We Have To Get Over, Somehow We Do. Even The Worst Things.

All The Travelin I Ever Done Is Going Around The Coffeepot Looking For The Handle.

Was Love Then Like A Bag Of Assorted Sweets Passed Around From Which One Might Choose More Than Once? Some Might Sting The Tongue, Some Invoke Night Perfume. Some Had Centers As Bitter As Gall, Some Blended Honey And Poison, Some Were Quickly Swallowed. And Among The Common Bull's-eyes And Peppermints A Few Rare Ones; One Or Two With Deadly Needles At The Heart, Another That Brought Clam And Gentle Pleasure. Were His Fingers Closing On That One?