I've Been Depressed Many Times In My

Let Me Tell You A Few Things About Regret. There Is No End To It. Do You Regret The Beginning Which Ended So Badly, Or Just The Ending Itself?

It's Not That He Was Going Nowhere, It's That He'd Already Arrived.

The Santa Anas Blew In Hot From The Desert, Shriveling The Last Of The Spring Grass Into Whiskers Of Pale Straw. Only The Oleanders Thrived, Their Delicate Poisonous Blooms, Their Dagger Green Leaves. We Could Not Sleep In The Hot Dry Nights, My Mother And I.

It's Their Skins I'm Peeling," She Said. "the Skins Of The Insipid Scribblers, Which I Graft To The Page, Creating Monsters Of Meaninglessness.

Once You Get Below The Floor Of Our Personal Identities, We're All Connected. Perhaps That's Why We Can Move Into Others' Lives.