Wisdom Is Finding Joy In

I'll Tell You Something. Once I Was Very Fond Of A Poem By Emily Dickinson Or Somebody. I Only Remember One Line Of It, But It Goes, 'the Soul Selects Her Own Society.' I Used To Tell It To Everybody. Once I Quoted It To A Friend Of Mine, And He Said, 'maybe, But The Body Gets Thrown Into Bed With The Goddamnedest People.

The Last Unicorn Lived In A Lilac Wood, And She Lived All Alone.

For A Moment She Turned In A Circle, Staring At Her Hands, Which She Held High And Useless, Close To Her Breast. She Bobbed And Shambled Like An Ape Doing A Trick, And Her Face Was The Silly, Bewildered Face Of A Joker's Victim. And Yet She Could Make No Move That Was Not Beautiful. Her Trapped Terror Was More Lovely Than Any Joy That Molly Had Ever Seen, And That Was The Most Terrible Thing About It.

Never Run From Anything Immortal. It Attracts Their Attention.

Unicorns Are Not To Be Forgiven." The Magician Felt Himself Growing Giddy With Jealousy, Not Only Of The Touch But Of Something Like A Secret That Was Moving Between Molly And The Unicorn. "unicorns Are For Beginnings," He Said, "for Innocence And Purity, For Newness. Unicorns Are For Young Girls." Molly Was Stroking The Unicorn's Throat As Timidly As Though She Were Blind. She Dried Her Grimy Tears On The White Mane. "you Don't Know Much About Unicorns," She Said.