Sorrow Was Like The Wind. It Came

The Best Fish In The World Are Of Course Those One Catches Oneself.

Sift Each Of Us Through The Great Sieve Of Circumstance And You Have A Residue, Great Or Small As The Case May Be, That Is The Man Or The Woman.

Sorrow Was Like The Wind. It Came In Gusts.

...a Pie So Delicate, So Luscious, That I Hope To Be Propped Up On My Dying Bed And Fed A Generous Portion. Then I Think That I Should Refuse Outright To Die, For Life Would Be Too Good To Relinquish.

The Truth Is Artistically Fallacious.