While There's Life, There's Fear.

Self-inflicted Misery Smirks Under Its Crown Of Thorns.

Young Poets Bewail The Passing Of Love; Old Poets, The Passing Of Time. There Is Surprisingly Little Difference.

Futility Has Become A Great Subject, Full Of Opportunities.

Why Is It Forbidden In New York To Acknowledge The Charm And Beauty Of Los Angeles?

Rescue Someone Unwilling To Look After Himself, And He Will Cling To You Like A Dangerous Illness.