The Opportunity To Lecture Had Restored My

..he Continues To Cling To The Forlorn Hope That I Will Turn Into One Of Those Swooning Females...and Fling Myself Squeeling At Him Whenever Anything Happens. Like All Men, He Clings To His Illusions.

The Only Way To Do It Is To Do It: By Writing, Writing, Writing.

Who Are We Really? Combinations Of Common Chemicals That Perform Mechanical Actions For A Few Years Before Crumbling Back Into The Original Components? Fresh New Souls, Drawn At Random For Some Celestial Cupboard Where God Keeps An Unending Supply?or The Same Soul, Immortal And Eternal, Refurbished And Reused Through Endless Lives, By That Thrifty Housekeeper? In Her Wisdom And Benevolence She Wipes Off The Memory Slates, As Part Of The Cleaning Process, Because If We Could Remember All The Things We Have Experienced In Earlier Lives, We Might Object To Risking It Again.

In The Silence I Heard Bastet, Who Had Retreated Under The Bed, Carrying On A Mumbling, Profane Monologue. (if You Ask How I Knew It Was Profane, I Presume You Have Never Owned A Cat.)

I Do Hope You Have Some Money. I'm Getting Tired Of Hitting People.