Even Nothing Cannot Last Forever.

If I Come Back, It Will Be A Place, But It Won't Be A Home Any Longer.

This Was The Void. Not Blackness, Not Nothingness. This Was What Lay Beneath The Thinly Painted Scrim Of Reality.

Stories You Read When You're The Right Age Never Quite Leave You. You May Forget Who Wrote Them Or What The Story Was Called.

Nearly' Only Counts In Horseshoes And Hand-grenades.

When I Was Young I Was A Fool. So Wrap Me Up In Dreams And Death.