An Unread Book Is Just A Block

I’m Thirty,” I Said. “i’m Five Years Too Old To Lie To Myself And Call It Honor

Was It The Infinite Sadness Of Her Eyes That Drew Him Or The Mirror Of Himself That He Found In The Gorgeous Clarity Of Her Mind?

A Love Affair Is Like A Short Story--it Has A Beginning, A Middle, And An End. The Beginning Was Easy, The Middle Might Drag, Invaded By Commonplace, But The End, Instead Of Being Decisive And Well Knit With That Element Of Revelatory Surprise As A Well-written Story Should Be, It Usually Dissipated In A Succession Of Messy And Humiliating Anticlimaxes.

Poetry Is Either Something That Lives Like Fire Inside You

But They Were Frightened At His Survivant Will, Once A Will To Live, Now Become A Will To Die.