Luck Ran Out, But Smart Was For

I Am Sorry," I Whispered. "i Am Sorry For All Of The Ways That I Failed You. I Am Sorry That I Was Not There To Save You, Or To Die Alongside You. I Am Sorry That I Have Kept You With Me For So Long, Trapped In My Heart, Bound In Sorrow And Remorse. I Forgive You Too. I Forgive You For Leaving Me, And I Forgive You For Returning. I Forgive You Your Anger, And Your Grief. Let This Be An End To It.

This World Is Full Of Broken Things: Broken Hearts, Broken Promises, Broken People.

Why Is There Always One Bloke In These Boy Bands Who Looks Like He Came To Fix The Boiler And Somehow Got Bullied Into Joining The Group?

He Had Quite Liked The Dwarfs. He Often Had No Idea What They Were Talking About, But For A Group Of Homicidal, Class-obsessed Small People, They Were Really Rather Good Fun.

I Think The Act Of Reading Imbues The Reader With A Sensitivity Toward The Outside World That People Who Don't Read Can Sometimes Lack. I Know It Seems Like A Contradiction In Terms; After All Reading Is Such A Solitary, Internalizing Act That It Appears To Represent A Disengagement From Day-to-day Life. But Reading, And Particularly The Reading Of Fiction, Encourages Us To View The World In New And Challenging Ways...it Allows Us To Inhabit The Consciousness Of Another Which Is A Precursor To Empathy, And Empathy Is, For Me, One Of The Marks Of A Decent Human Being.