To A Child, And To An Adult,

Time Is A Gift, Given To You, Given To Give You The Time You Need, The Time You Need To Have The Time Of Your Life.

A Slavish Concern For The Composition Of Words Is The Sign Of A Bankrupt Intellect. Be Gone, Odious Wasp! You Smell Of Decayed Syllables.

You May Not See It Now," Said The Princess Of Pure Reason, Looking Knowingly At Milo's Puzzled Face, "but Whatever We Learn Has A Purpose And Whatever We Do Affects Everything And Everyone Else, If Even In The Tiniest Way.

And Now," He Continued, Speaking To Milo, "where Were You On The Night Of July 27?" "what Does That Have To Do With It?" Asked Milo. "it's My Birthday, That's What," Said The Policeman As He Entered "forgot My Birthday" In His Little Book. "boys Always Forget Other People's Birthdays.

...i'll Continue To See Things As A Child. It's Not So Far To Fall.