There Is Nothing To Writing. All You

Part Of You Died Each Year When The Leaves Fell From The Trees And Their Branches Were Bare Against The Wind And The Cold, Wintry Light.

That Every Day Should Be A Fiesta Seemed To Me A Wonderful Discovery.

The World Breaks Everyone Or Nearly Everyone, Of Their Childish Illusions, Assumptions And Wishes, Often Painfully And Afterwards Due To The Personal Growth In Practical Experience, Insight And The Resulting Wisdom Many Are Strong At The Broken Places Just Like Mended Broken Bones Often Are, And Some People Even Have The Great Insight To Be Grateful For The Purifying Fire.

Fascism Is A Lie Told By Bullies.

Once In Africa I Lost The Corkscrew And We Were Forced To Live Off Food And Water For Weeks.