My Sentences Tend To Be Very Short

How Strange It Is, Anna. Yesterday, I Have Filed In My Mind As A Good Day, Notwithstanding It Was Filled With Mortal Illness And The Grieving Of The Recently Bereft. Yet It Is A Good Day, For The Simple Fact That No One Died Upon It. We Are Brought To A Sorry State, That We Measure What Is Good By Such A Shortened Yardstick.

If A Man Is To Lose His Fortune, It Is A Good Thing If He Were Poor Before He Acquired It, For Poverty Requires Aptitude.

I Think That You Can Honour The Sacrifices Of A Common Soldier Without Glorifying War.

All The Times, All The Very Many Times, I Had Been Forced To Thwart And Stifle My Own Nature Seemed To Gather Together Then, In That Hot And Dismal Corridor. I Heard A Rushing Sound In My Head And Felt A Pressure In My Breast, Like Floodwaters Rising Behind A Flimsy Dike. Before I Knew I Did It, The Soup Bowl Was Rising In My Hand As If Elevated By Some Supernatural Force. Then, Its Yellow-gray Contents Were Running Down The Nurse's Pudgy Face.

Who Is The Brave Man--he Who Feels No Fear? If So, Then Bravery Is But A Polite Term For A Mind Devoid Of Rationality And Imagination.