...we Take Comfort In The

I've Reached The Age Where Bruises Are Formed From Failures Within Rather Than Accidents Without.

What Is Literature, Really? Boiled Down To A Single Sentence, I'd Say It's This: An Endless Conversation About What It Means To Be Human. And To Read Literature Is To Engage In That Conversation.

After All Who Doesn't Wish To Make A Spectacle Of Their Loneliness

Only Later Did I Come To Understand That To Be A Mother Is To Be An Illusion. No Matter How Vigilant, In The End A Mother Can't Protect Her Child - Not From Pain, Or Horror, Or The Nightmare Of Violence, From Sealed Trains Moving Rapidly In The Wrong Direction, The Depravity Of Strangers, Trapdoors, Abysses, Fires, Cars In The Rain, From Chance.

In Nature Forms Are Endlessly Being Destroyed And Then Recreated And Destroyed And Recreated. Nature Isn't Afraid To Destroy Forms In The Process Of Regenerating. So Why Are We Afraid Of That In Life?