But All The Time-no Matter What She

I Want - I Want - I Want - Was All That She Could Think About - But Just What This Real Want Was She Did Not Know.

The Human Heart Is A Lonely Hunter-but The Search For Us Southerners Is More Anguished.

Nothing Is So Musical As The Sound Of Pouring Bourbon For The First Drink On A Sunday Morning. Not Bach Or Schubert Or Any Of Those Masters.

The World Is Certainty A Sudden Place.

The Closest Thing To Being Cared For Is To Care For Someone Else.