And It Was Lonely, To Yearn, All

The Life Where Nothing Was Ever Unexpected. Or Inconvenient. Or Unusual. The Life Without Colour, Pain Or Past.

The Writer After All Is Only Half The Book, The Other Half Is The Reader.

For A Contributing Citizen To Be Released From The Community Was A Final Decision, A Terrible Punishment, An Overwhelming Statement Of Failure.

The Mind Can’t Explain It, And You Can’t Make It Go Away. It’s Called Love.

I Feel Sorry For Anyone Who Is In A Place Where He Feels Strange And Stupid.