We Know That Happiness Is Short-lived, That

For Human Words Are Like Shadows, And Shadows Are Incapable Of Explaining Light And Between Shadow And Light There Is The Opaque Body From Which Words Are Born.

What Kind Of World Is This That Can Send Machines To Mars And Does Nothing To Stop The Killing Of A Human Being?

Every Thing In Life Is A Uniform; The Only Time Our Bodies Are Truly In Civilian Dress Is When We're Naked.

Liking Is Probably The Best Form Of Ownership, And Ownership The Worst Form Of Liking.

Perhaps It Is The Language That Chooses The Writers It Needs, Making Use Of Them So That Each Might Express A Tiny Part Of What It Is.