Everyone's Dying. A Little, Every Day. Make

I Know Because I Read...your Mind Is Not A Cage. It's A Garden. And It Requires Cultivating.

It's Always Darkest Before The Ultimate Sparkle.

All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

Didn't You Have Any Sadistic Nannies Who Told You These Tales To Keep You Quiet And Well Behaved At Night? Heavens, What's To Become Of The Empire If Governesses Have Lost Their Touch For Scaring The Wits Out Of Their Girls?

Simon, Would You Still Care For Me If You Discovered I Was Not Who I Say I Am?" What Do You Mean?" I Mean Would You Still Care For Me, No Matter What You Came To Know?" What A Thing To Ponder. I Don't Know What To Say." The Answer Is No. He Does Not Need To Say It. With A Sigh, Simon Digs At The Fire With The Iron Poker. Bits Of The Charred Log Fall Away, Revealing The Angry Insides. They Flare Orange For A Moment, Then Quiet Down Again. After Three Tries, He Gives Up. I'm Afraid This Fire's Had It." I Can See A Few Embers Remaining. "no, I Think Not. If..." He Sighs, And It Says Everything.