I Write Fast, Because I Have Not

If Your Vision Of The World Is Of A Certain Kind You Will Put Poetry In Everything, Necessarily.

If Each One Of Us Could Make Just One Other Happy, The Whole World Would Know Happiness.

And Boucard Desisted, Probably Because Like Everyone Else He Was Deeply Impressed By This Man Who Had Laid All Ghosts, Who Had Lost All Shadows, And Who Stared You In The Eyes With Cold Serenity.

We Are All Potentially Characters In A Novel--with The Difference That Characters In A Novel Really Get To Live Their Lives To The Full.

Trotsky Rises To Give Me His Hand, Then Sits At His Desk, Gently Allowing His Regard To Light On My Person.