How Shrunk, How Dwindled, In Our Times

Happiness Is A Garden Walled With Glass: There's No Way In Or Out. In Paradise There Are No Stories, Because There Are No Journeys. It's Loss And Regret And Misery And Yearning That Drive The Story Forward, Along Its Twisted Road.

You Can't Help What You Feel, But You Can Help How You Behave

Some Of Our Earliest Writing, In Cuneiform, Was About Who Owes What.

Canada Was Built On Dead Beavers.

I Am Not A Saint Or A Cripple, I Am Not A Wound; Now I Will See Whether I Am A Coward.