She Was Plump, With Dyed Red Hair

We Are Not Meant To Know The Time Or The Nature Of Our Deaths (for All Of Us Secretly Hope That We May Be Immortal).

. . . For A Lifetime Was But A Moment In That Place, And Each Man Dreams His Own Heaven. And In The Darkness David Closed His Eyes, As All That Was Lost Was Found Again.

For In Every Adult There Dwells The Child That Was, And In Every Child There Lies The Adult That Will Be.

It Was An Overcast Late November Morning, The Grass Splintered By Hoarfrost, And Winter Grinning Through The Gaps In The Clouds Like A Bad Clown Peering Through The Curtains Before The Show Begins.

Here Is A Truth, A Truth By Which To Live: There Is Hope. There Is Always Hope. If We Choose To Abandon It, Our Souls Will Turn To Ash And Blow Away.