Telling The Truth Is A

For You, My Darlings, Freedom To Do What You Like Is The Discovery Of How Unlikable What You Like To Do Makes You. Not That That Stops You Doing What You Like, Since You Like Doing What You Like More Than You Like Liking What You Do... [lucifer]

One Develops An Instinct For Letting Silence Do The Heavy Lifting. In The Three, Four, Five Seconds That Passed Without Either Of Us Speaking, The Many Ways The Conversation Could Go Came And Went Like Time-lapse Film Of Flowers Blooming And Dying.

There’s A Reason Humans Peg-out Around Eighty: Prose Fatigue. It Looks Like Organ Failure Or Cancer Or Stroke But It’s Really Just The Inability To Carry On Clambering Through The Assault Course Of Mundane Cause And Effect. If We Ask Sheila Then We Can’t Ask Ron. If I Have The Kippers Now Then It’s Quiche For Tea. Four Score Years Is About All The Ifs And Thens You Can Take. Dementia’s The Sane Realisation You Just Can’t Be Doing With All That Anymore.

You Can't Blame Me. I Mean That Literally. You're Incapable Of Blaming Me. You're Human. Being Human Is Choosing Freedom Over Imprisonment, Autonomy Over Dependency, Liberty Over Servitude. You Can't Blame Me Because You Know (come On, Man, You've Always Known) That The Idea Of Spending Eternity With Nothing To Do Except Praise God Is Utterly Unappealing. You'd Be Catatonic After An Hour. Heaven's A Swiz Because To Get In You Have To Leave Yourself Outside. You Can't Blame Me Because -- Now Do Please Be Honest With Yourself For Once -- You'd Have Left, Too.

Once You've Stopped Loving Someone Breaking His Or Her Heart's Just An Unpleasant Chore You Have To Get Behind You. My God, You Really Don't Love Me Anymore, Do You? No Matter Your Decency The Victim's Incredulity's Potentially Hilarious. You Manage Not To Laugh.