After All, It Is Not Where One

The Truth Is How You Say It, And To Be 'one's Self' Is The Most Shocking Custom Of All.

None Of Us Suffers As Much As We Should, Or Loves As Much As We Say. Love Is The First Lie; Wisdom The Last.

No One Will Be Much Or Little Except In Someone Else's Mind, So Be Careful Of The Minds You Get Into.

To Love Without Criticism Is To Be Betrayed.

Our Bones Ache Only While The Flesh Is On Them. Stretch It As Thin As The Temple Flesh Of An Ailing Woman And Still It Serves To Ache The Bone And To Move The Bone About; And In Like Manner The Night Is A Skin Pulled Over The Head Of Day That The Day May Be In A Torment. We Will Find No Comfort Until The Night Melts Away; Until The Fury Of The Night Rots Out Its Fire.