Humanity Is Best Described As Inhumanity.

My Soul Grazes Like A Lamb On The Beauty Of An Indrawn Tide.

She Was One Of Those Southerners Who Knew From An Early Age That The South Could Never Be More For Them Than A Fragrant Prison, Administered By A Collective Of Loving But Treacherous Relatives.

These Are The Quicksilver Moments Of My Childhood I Cannot Remember Entirely. Irresistible And Emblematic, I Can Recall Them Only In Fragments And Shivers Of The Heart.

American Men Are Allotted Just As Many Tears As American Women. But Because We Are Forbidden To Shed Them, We Die Long Before Women Do, With Our Hearts Exploding Or Our Blood Pressure Rising Or Our Livers Eaten Away By Alcohol Because That Lake Of Grief Inside Us Has No Outlet. We, Men, Die Because Our Faces Were Not Watered Enough.

I've Always Believed That Dreams Were Both The Love Letters And The Hate Mail Of The Subconscious.