There Never Was A War That Was

The Hands Are The Heart's Messengers.

I Believe Verbal Felicity Is The Fruit Of Ardor, Of Diligence, And Of Refusing To Be False.

There Never Was A War That Was Not Inward.

Of The Crow-blue Mussel Shells, One Keeps Adjusting The Ash Heaps; Opening And Shutting Itself Like An Injured Fan.

It Is Human Nature To Stand In The Middle Of A Thing.