A Story Invites Both Writer And Reader

Children Were Meant To Be Gifts. The Physical Manifestation Of Love Between A Man And A Woman. And For That Love All Manner Of Sacrifice Could Be Borne.

When You've Burned The Bridges Behind You, Don't Go Starting A Fire On The One In Front Of You.

Children Are Dying." Lull Nodded. "that's A Succinct Summary Of Humankind, I'd Say. Who Needs Tomes And Volumes Of History? Children Are Dying. The Injustices Of The World Hide In Those Three Words.

Name None Of The Fallen, For They Stand In Our Place, And Stand There Still In Each Moment Of Our Lives. Let My Death Hold No Glory, And Let Me Die Forgotten And Unknown. Let It Not Be Said That I Was One Among The Dead To Accuse The Living.

More Than One Philosopher Has Claimed That We Ever Remain Children, Far Beneath The Indurated Layers That Make Up The Armour Of Adulthood. Armour Encumbers, Restricts The Body And Soul Within It. But It Also Protects. Blows Are Blunted. Feelings Lose Their Edge, Leaving Us To Suffer Naught But A Plague Of Bruises, And, After A Time, Bruises Fade.