Distance Is The Only Cure

When I Pitched Headforemost Into The World I Landed In The Crib Of Negroism.

When God Had Made The Man, He Made Him Out Of Stuff That Sung All The Time And Glittered All Over. Some Angels Got Jealous And Chopped Him Into Millions Of Pieces, But Still He Glittered And Hummed. So They Beat Him Down To Nothing But Sparks But Each Little Spark Had A Shine And A Song. So They Covered Each One Over With Mud. And The Lonesomeness In The Sparks Make Them Hunt For One Another.

It Was Not Death She Feared. It Was Misunderstanding.

Research Is Formalized Curiosity. It Is Poking And Prying With A Purpose. It Is A Seeking That He Who Wishes May Know The Cosmic Secrets Of The World And They That Dwell Therein.

It Seems To Me That Trying To Live Without Friends Is Like Milking A Bear To Get Cream For Your Morning Coffee. It Is A Whole Lot Of Trouble, And Then Not Worth Much After You Get It.