...the Heart Is An Organ Of Fire.

Truth, At The Wrong Time, Can Be Dangerous.

She Had Grown Older. And He Loved Her More Now Than He Had Loved Her When He Understood Her Better, When She Was The Product Of Her Parents. What She Was Now Was What She Herself Had Decided To Become.

Research Can Be A Big Clunker. It's Difficult To Know How You Can Make The Historical Light.

Men Had Always Been The Reciters Of Poetry In The Desert.

A Postcard. Neat Handwriting Fills The Rectangle. Half My Days I Cannot Bear To Touch You. The Rest Of My Time I Feel Like It Doesn’t Matter If I Will Ever See You Again. It Isn’t The Morality, It’s How Much You Can Bear. No Date. No Name Attached.