If She Was Broken, She

He Shook His Head, Absorbed In One Of His Feats Of Memory, Those Brief Periods Of Scholastic Rapture Where He Lost Touch With The World Around Him, Absorbed Completely In Conjuring Up Knowledge From All Its Sources.

Ye Are Blood Of My Blood, And Bone Of My Bone, I Give Ye My Body, That We Two Might Be One. I Give Ye My Spirit, 'til Our Life Shall Be Done.

Through Eons Of Living In A Land So Poor There Was Little To Eat But Oats, They Had As Usual Converted Necessity Into A Virtue, And Insisted That They Liked The Stuff.

She Sounded As Though Love Were An Unfortunate But Unavoidable Condition.

Any Piece Of Good Music Is In Essence A Love Song.