Later She Remembered All The Hours Of

If You Try To Create A Type, You May End With Nothing. If You Do A Good Job Of Creating An Individual, You May Succeed At Creating A Type.

No Matter How Low You Go, There's Always An Unexplored Basement.

He Wanted To Care, And He Could Not Care. For He Had Gone Away And He Could Never Go Back Anymore. The Gates Were Closed, The Sun Was Down, And There Was No Beauty Left But The Gray Beauty Of Steel That Withstands All Time. Even The Grief He Could Have Borne Was Left Behind In The Country Of Youth, Of Illusion, Of The Richness Of Life, Where His Winter Dreams Had Flourished.

Once I Thought That Lake Forest Was The Most Glamorous Place In The World. Maybe It Was.

There Was A Kindliness About Intoxication - There Was That Indescribable Gloss And Glamour It Gave, Like The Memories Of Ephemeral And Faded Evenings.