My Notion Of An Elegant

Grief Is As Contagious As A Yawn.

Grieving Is Like Being Ill. You Think The Entire World Revolves Around You And It Doesn't.

The Memory Is Like Orbiting Twin Stars, One Visible, One Dark, The Trajectory Of What's Evident Forever Affected By The Gravity Of What's Concealed.

I Hate Nature. I Really Do. Nature Is Composed Entirely Of Sticks, Dirt, Fall-down Places, Biting And Stinging Things, And Savageries Too Numerous To List. And I'm Not The Only One Who Feels This Way. Man Has Been Building Cities Since The Year Oughty-ought, Just To Get Away From This Stuff.

Lying Contains The Same Hostile Elements As A Practical Joke In That The 'victim' Ends Up Looking Foolish In His Own Eyes And Laughable In Everyone Else's.