A Work Of Fiction Should Be, For

Then, Brothers, It Came. Oh, Bliss, Bliss And Heaven. I Lay All Nagoy To The Ceiling, My Gulliver On My Rookers On The Pillow, Glazzies Closed, Rot Open In Bliss, Slooshying The Sluice Of Lovely Sounds. Oh, It Was Gorgeousness And Gorgeosity Made Flesh.

All Human Life Is Here, But The Holy Ghost Seems To Be Somewhere Else.

We Only Need To Wear Shoes Because The British Built Roads Which Hurt Our Feet.

I Was Always On My Oddy Knocky.

Violence Among Young People Is An Aspect Of Their Desire To Create. They Don't Know How To Use Their Energy Creatively So They Do The Opposite And Destroy.