My Primary Motivation For Writing Is To

There Are Abundantly More English Professors In The World Than There Are Authors.

The Illusion Is We Are Only Physical.

The People Knew What Had Made Them Human. It Was Not Their Shortcomings, But Their Hearts.

People Who Worship Only Themselves Get A Slick, Polished Look - Like Monuments. Too Bad They Had To Go So Soon.

Because I Had Goodwill For All, I Thought All Were My Friends. And Then I Learned Of Treachery, That Some Preferred My End. It Wasn't The Goodwill I Felt That Made Someone A Friend. What Handy Day, The One I Learned The Meaning Of The Word. How Good To Know My Enemies (though Their Reasons Are Absurd!)