The Expression To Write Something Down Suggests

If There Were Genders To Genres, Fiction Would Be Unquestionably Feminine.

The Body Of Our Saviour Shat But Our Saviour Shat Not.

As Rilke Observed, Love Requires A Progressive Shortening Of The Senses: I Can See You For Miles; I Can Hear You For Blocks, I Can Smell You, Maybe, For A Few Feet, But I Can Only Touch On Contact, Taste As I Devour

I Am Unlikely To Trust A Sentence That Comes Easily.

Words [are] More Beautiful Than A Found Fall Leaf.