At Some Point You Just

I Think That There's Something Extremely Beautiful About The Olympic Ideal And Its Motto - 'swifter, Higher, Stronger' - It's Such A Beautiful Motto, And It Celebrates Everything Which Is The Antithesis Of Death And Dissolution And Entropy.

Is It My Fault If I Do Not Look Like An English Girl And I Do Not Talk Like A Nigerian? Well, Who Says An English Girl Must Have Skin As Pale As The Clouds That Float Across Her Summers? Who Says A Nigerian Girl Must Speak In Fallen English...?

Psychiatry In This Place Is Like Serving An In-flight Meal In The Middle Of A Plane Crash. If I Wanted To Make You Well, As A Doctor, I Should Be Giving You A Parachute, Not A Cheese-and-pickle Sandwich.

They Say That In The Hour Before An Earthquake The Clouds Hang Leaden In The Sky, The Winds Slows To A Hot Breath, And The Birds Fall Quiet In The Trees Of The Town Square. Yes But These Are The Same Portents That Precede Lunchtime, Frankly.

Death, Of Course, Is A Refuge. It's Where You Go When A New Name, Or A Mask And Cape, Can No Longer Hide You From Yourself. It's Where You Run To When None Of The Principalities Of Your Conscience Will Grant You Asylum.