Nothing Can Last Forever. There Isn't Any

There You'll Find The Place I Love Most In The World. The Place Where I Grew Thin From Dreaming. My Village, Rising From The Plain. Shaded With Trees And Leaves Like A Piggy Bank Filled With Memories. You'll See Why A Person Would Want To Live There Forever. Dawn, Morning, Mid-day, Night: All The Same, Except For The Changes In The Air. The Air Changes The Color Of Things There. And Life Whirs By As Quiet As A Murmur...the Pure Murmuring Of Life.

Every Author That Creates Is A Liar;literature Is A Lie,but From That Lie, A Recreation Of Reality Is Born. Therefore, Recreating Reality Is One Of The Fundaments Of Creation.

Nothing Can Last Forever. There Isn't Any Memory, No Matter How Intense, That Doesn't Fade Out At Last.

There Was No Air; Only The Dead, Still Night Fired By The Dog Days Of August. Not A Breath. I Had To Suck In The Same Air I Exhaled, Cupping It In My Hands Before It Escaped. I Felt It, In And Out, Less Each Time…until It Was So Thin It Slipped Through My Fingers Forever. I Mean, Forever.

I Am Talking About Misery And All Of Its Implications.