Forgotten Is Forgiven.

I Don't Want To Repeat My Innocence. I Want The Pleasure Of Losing It Again.

So He Tasted The Deep Pain That Is Reserved Only For The Strong, Just As He Had Tasted For A Little While The Deep Happiness.

The Best Of America Drifts To Paris. The American In Paris Is The Best American.

The Montana Sunset Lay Between The Mountains Like A Giant Bruise From Which Darkened Arteries Spread Across A Poisoned Sky.

I Couldn't Forgive Him Or Like Him, But I Saw That What He Had Done Was, To Him, Entirely Justified.