She Had Waited All Her Life For

I Have The Nerve To Walk My Own Way, However Hard, In My Search For Reality, Rather Than Climb Upon The Rattling Wagon Of Wishful Illusions.

I Do Not Weep At The World I Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

Love Is Lak De Sea. It’s Uh Movin’ Thing, But Still And All, It Takes Its Shape From De Shore It Meets, And It’s Different With Every Shore.

She Starched And Ironed Her Face, Forming It Into Just What People Wanted To See.

It Seems That Fighting Is A Game Where Everybody Is The Loser.