...the Moron Who Thought Love Was Forever.

A New Experience Can Be Extremely Pleasurable, Or Extremely Irritating, Or Somewhere In Between, And You Never Know Until You Try It Out.

The Violins Waltzed. The Cellos And Basses Provided Accompaniment. The Violas Mourned Their Fate, While The Concertmaster Showed Off. The Flutes Did Bird Imitations…repeatedly, And The Reed Instruments Had The Good Taste To Admire My Jacket. The Trumpets Held A Parade In Honor Of Our Great Nation, While The French Horns Waxed Nostalgic About Something Or Other. The Trombones Had Too Much To Drink. The Percussion Beat The Band, And The Tuba Stayed Home Playing Cards With His Landlady, The Harp, Taking Sips Of Warm Milk A Blue Little Cup. “but The Composer Is Still Dead.

I Had Written Eight Drafts Of The Lemony Snicket' Screenplay When This Changing-of-the-guard Thing Happened, And I Said To The New Producers, "i Don't Think I Could Write Any More Drafts." I Guess I Was Sort Of Hoping They Would Say, "well That's Okay, This Last One Is Perfect." But Instead, They Said, "it's Funny You Should Say That. We Don't Think You Can Write Any More Drafts Either."

I Love No One But You, I Have Discovered, But You Are Far Away And I Am Here Alone. Then This Is My Life And Maybe, However Unlikely, I'll Find My Way Back There. Or Maybe, One Day, I'll Settle For Second Best. And On That Same Day, Hell Will Freeze Over, The Sun Will Burn Out And The Stars Will Fall From The Sky.

I Will Love You As Misfortune Loves Orphans, As Fire Loves Innocence, And As Justice Loves To Sit And Watch While Everything Goes Wrong.