The Recounting Of A Life Is A

In One Day I Had Altered My Life; My Life, Therefore, Was Alterable. This Simple Axiom Did Not Call Out For Exegesis; No, It Entered My Bloodstream Directly, As Powerful As Heroin. I Could Feel It Pump And Surge, The Way It Brightened My Veins To A Kind Of Glass. I Had Wakened That Morning To Narrowness And Predestination And Now I Was Falling Asleep In The Storm Of My Own Free Will.

Bookish People, Who Are Often Maladroit People, Persist In Thinking They Can Master Any Subtlety So Long As It's Been Shaped Into Acceptable Expository Prose.

These Are Frightening Times...when She Feels Herself Annointed By Loneliness.

I'm Concerned About The Unknowability Of Other People.

Why Should Men Be Allowed To Strut Under The Privilege Of Their Life Adventures, Wearing Them Like A Breast Full Of Medals, While Women Went All Gray And Silent Beneath The Weight Of Theirs?