Men Love War Because It Allows Them

Because A Star Explodes And A Thousand Worlds Like Ours Die, We Know This World Is. That Is The Smile: That What Might Not Be, Is.

The Great Majority Of Modern Third-person Narration Is "i" Narration Very Thinly Disguised.

The Noblest Relationship Is Marriage, That Is, Love. Its Nobility Resides In Its Altruism, The Desire To Serve Another Beyond All The Pleasures Of The Relationship; And In Its Refusal Ever To Regard The Other As A Thing, An Object, A Utilizability. Sex Is An Exchange Of Pleasures, Of Needs; Love Is A Giving Without Return. It Is This Giving Without Return, This Helping Without Reward, This Surplus Of Pure Good, That Identifies The Uniqueness Of Man As Well As The True Nature Of The True Marriage. This Is The Quintessence The Great Alchemy Of Sex Is For.

He Felt Himself In Suspension Between The Two Worlds, The Warm, Neat Civilization Behind His Back, The Cool, Dark Mystery Outside. We All Write Poems; It Is Simply That Poets Are The Ones Who Write In Words.

I Am One In A Row Of Specimens. It's When I Try To Flutter Out Of Line That He Hates Me. I'm Meant To Be Dead, Pinned, Always The Same, Always Beautiful. He Knows That Part Of My Beauty Is Being Alive. But It's The Dead Me He Wants. He Wants Me Living-but-dead.