There Is No Shortage Of Fault To

Stupid Truth, Always Resisting Simplicity

I Believe In That Line From An Imperial Affliction. 'the Risen Sun Too Bright In Her Losing Eyes.' That's God, I Think, The Rising Sun, And The Light Is Too Bright And Her Eyes Are Losing But They Aren't Lost.

"you Are Fairly Smart," I Said After A While. "you Are Fairly Good At Compliments," He Answered.

It Was An Indulgence, Learning Last Words. Other People Had Chocolate; I Had Dying Declarations.

I Was Born Into Bolívar's Labyrinth, And So I Must Believe In The Hope Of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.