Pain For The Old Was No Longer

What You Alter In The Remembering Has Yet A Reality, Known Or Not.

We Think We Are The Victims Of Time. In Reality, The Way Of The World Isn't Fixed Anywhere. How Could That Be Possible? We Are Our Own Journey. And Therefore We Are Time As Well. We Are The Same. Fugitive. Inscrutable. Ruthless.

There Is No Such Joy In The Tavern As Upon The Road Thereto.

You Are Either Born A Writer Or You Are Not.

I Don't Think Goodness Is Something That You Learn. If You're Left Adrift In The World To Learn Goodness From It, You Would Be In Trouble.