If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Would Ride.

Children Are Knives, My Mother Once Said. They Don’t Mean To, But They Cut. And Yet We Cling To Them, Don’t We, We Clasp Them Until The Blood Flows.

Guilleaume Left La Praline With A Small Bag Of Florentines In His Pocket; Before He Had Turned The Corner Of Avenue Des Francs Bourgeois I Saw Him Stoop To Offer One To The Dog. A Pat, A Bark, A Wagging Of The Short Stubby Tail. As I Said, Some People Never Have To Think About Giving.

I Have An Advanced Degree In Procrastination And Another One In Paranoia.

Life Is What You Celebrate. All Of It. Even Its End.

I Could Do With A Bit More Excess. From Now On I'm Going To Be Immoderate--and Volatile--i Shall Enjoy Loud Music And Lurid Poetry. I Shall Be Rampant.