A Story Can Be New And Yet

There Were Doors That Looked Like Large Keyholes, Others That Resembled The Entrances To Caves, There Were Golden Doors, Some Were Padded And Some Were Studded With Nails, Some Were Paper-thin And Others As Thick As The Doors Of Treasure Houses; There Was One That Looked Like A Giant's Mouth And Another That Had To Be Opened Like A Drawbridge, One That Suggested A Big Ear And One That Was Made Of Gingerbread, One That Was Shaped Like An Oven Door, And One That Had To Be Unbuttoned.

Strange As It May Seem, Horror Loses Its Power To Frighten When Repeated Too Often.

But That Is Another Story And Shall Be Told Another Time.

Time Is Life Itself, And Life Resides In The Human Heart.

Those Who Still Think That Listening Isn’t An Art Should See If They Can Do It Half As Well.