The Smells Of Christmas Are The Smells

There Can Be No Joy Without Gratitude.

I Don't Think It Is As Much A Human Foible As It Is A Human Curse That We Cannot Understand The Beauty Of A Thing Until It Is Gone.

I Believe That In Spite Of The Chains We Bind Ourselves With, There's A Primordial Section Of The Human Psyche That Is Still Nomadic And Still Yearns To Roam Free.

Love Never Gives In Or Up, Holding Tight To Lofty Ideals That Transcend This Earth And Time, While Its Counterfeit Simply Concludes It Was Mistaken And Quickly Runs Off To Find The Next Real Thing.

I've Never Understood Why People Said 'in Your Own Words.' Who Else's Words Would I Use?