She Had The Kind Of Fingers You

Because There Is No Glory In Illness. There Is No Meaning To It. There Is No Honor In Dying Of.

It Seems To Me That All The Things We Keep In Sealed Boxes Are Both Alive And Dead Until We Open The Box, That The Unobserved Is Both There And Not.

At Least I Carpe'd That One Diem.

The Way I Figure It, Everyone Gets A Miracle.

It's Bad For Your Brain Not To Unplug.