A Thing Named Is A

In My Dreams I Gorge On Chocolates, I Roll In Chocolates, And Their Texture Is Not Brittle But Soft As Flesh, Like A Thousand Mouths On My Body, Devouring Me In Fluttering Small Bites. To Die Beneath Their Tender Gluttony Seems The Culmination Of Every Temptation I Have Ever Known.

Drunkeness, She Told Us In A Rare Moment Of Confidence, Is A Sin Against The Fruit, The Tree, The Wine Itself. Wine, Distilled And Nurtured From Bud Into Fruit; It Deserves Reverance. Joy. Gentleness. (page 194.)

Nat Parson Says It's The Devil's Mark." "nat Parson's A Gobshite." Maddy Was Torn Between A Natural Feeling Of Sacrilege And A Deep Admiration Of Anyone Who Dared Call A Parson 'gobshite.

If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Would Ride.

A Man Who Casts No Shadow Isn't Really A Man At All.