There Was A Level On Which I

The Ability To Think For One's Self Depends Upon One's Mastery Of The Language.

New York Is Full Of People . . . With A Feeling For The Tangential Adventure, The Risky Adventure, The Interlude That's Not Likely To End In Any Double-ring Ceremony.

We Are Imperfect Mortal Beings, Aware Of That Mortality Even As We Push It Away, Failed By Our Very Complication, So Wired That When We Mourn Our Losses We Also Mourn, For Better Or For Worse, Ourselves. As We Were. As We Are No Longer. As We Will One Day Not Be At All.

We Are The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Some Of Us Who Live In Arid Parts Of The World Think About Water With A Reverence Others Might Find Excessive.