In Her Single Person She Managed To

Doesn't All Experience Crumble In The End To Mere Literary Material?

What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

Convictions ... Are Always Getting In The Way Of Opportunities.

The Only Natural Human Beings Seem To Be Those Who Are Making Trouble.

But, Of Course Only Morons Would Ever Think Or Speak Of Themselves As Intellectuals. That's Why They All Look So Sad.