She Had Never Dreamed There Could Be

When You Stack Up All The Years We Are Allowed Against All There Is To Read, Time Is Very Short Indeed.

There's A Mr. Hyde For Every Happy Jekyll Face, A Dark Face On The Other Side Of The Mirror.

The Year She Had Run Fleetly Through The Dewy Grass Under The Moon- The Night Of Wine, When Dreams Condensed Out Of Thin Air Like The Nightmilk Of Fantasy.

We Are Going To Fight. We Are Going To Be Hurt. And In The End, We Will Stand.

...my Basic Belief About The Making Of Stories Is That They Pretty Much Make Themselves.