Truly God Was Good, To Make Man

And Gradually His Memory Slipped A Little, As Memories Do, Even Those With So Much Love Attached To Them; As If There Is An Unconscious Healing Process Within The Mind Which Mends Up In Spite Of Our Desperate Determination Never To Forget.

The Bird With The Thorn In Its Breast, It Follows An Immutable Law; It Is Driven By It Knows Not What To Impale Itself, And Die Singing. At The Very Instant The Thorn Enters There Is No Awareness In It Of The Dying To Come; It Simply Sings And Sings Until There Is Not The Life Left To Utter Another Note. But We, When We Put The Thorns In Our Breasts, We Know. We Understand. And Still We Do It. Still We Do It.

The Lovely Thing About Being Forty Is That You Can Appreciate Twenty-five-year-old Men More.

There Is No Doubt That It Is More Difficult To Read And More Difficult To Write But I Still Manage.

There Was Some Justice In His Pain