Always, Worlds Within Worlds.

Here Is A List Of Terrible Things, The Jaws Of Sharks, A Vultures Wings The Rabid Bite Of The Dogs Of War, The Voice Of One Who Went Before, But Most Of All The Mirror's Gaze, Which Counts Us Out Our Numbered Days.

Mischief Nodded. 'it's True,' He Conceded. 'you're In The Company Of Eight World-class Thieves,' He Said, Not Without A Little Touch Of Pride. 'saints We Are Not.' But Then,' Said Deaux-deaux, 'who Is?' He Thought On This. 'besides Saints.

I Was Cured In My New Infamy Of All The Tired Wisdom Of Age. I Would Never Weary Into That Tired State Again - -i Swore To Myself, I Would Always Be This Raw, Wet Child Hereafter.

…there’s Nothing In The World More Fun Than Doing Something You’re Good At.

Of Course It’s The Apparently Tranquil Periods That Deceive Us. Though Our Instruments Or Our Senses Or Our Wits May Not Be Able To See The Processes That Are Leading Toward These Clusters Of Events, They’re Happening. The Star, The Wheel, The Butterfly—all Are In A Subtle State Of Unrest, Waiting For The Moment When Some Invisible Mechanism Signals That The Time Has Come. Then The Star Explodes; The Wheel Makes Poor Men Rich; The Butterfly Mates And Dies.