Part Of The Beauty Of Fiction Is

This Is Not My Life. These Are Not My Cobwebs. This Is Not The Darkness I Was Designed For.

The World Does Not Turn Without Moments Of Grace. Who Cares How Small.

I Gave Them All The Truth And None Of The Honesty.

The Essence Of Intelligence Was To Know When, Or If, To Expose Even The Heart's Deep Need For Instruction.

The Luxury Of Age Was The Giving Up Of Vanity.