I Wasn't A Child At 13, Were

Rome Was Mud And Smoky Skies; The Rank Smell Of The Tiber And The Exotically Spiced Cooking Fires Of A Hundred Different Nationalities. Rome Was White Marble And Gilding And Heady Perfumes; The Blare Of Trumpets And The Shrieking Of Market-women And The Eternal, Sub-aural Hum Of More People, Speaking More Languages Than Gaius Had Ever Imagined Existed, Crammed Together On Seven Hills Whose Contours Had Long Ago Disappeared Beneath This Encrustation If Humanity. Rome Was The Pulsing Heart Of The World.

On One Occasion I Shared A Bed With About Seven Other People, But We Were All Having A Party Overnight

The Older I Grow The More I Become Certain That It Makes No Difference What Words We Use To Tell The Same Truths.

What You See Is From Outside Yourself, And May Come, Or Not, But Is Beyond Your Control. But Your Fear Is Yours, And Yours Alone, Like Your Voice, Or Your Fingers, Or Your Memory, And Therefore Yours To Control. If You Feel Powerless Over Your Fear, You Have Not Yet Admitted That It Is Yours, To Do With As You Will.

Darling, I Wish I Could Help You. Try To Remember This: To Live, You Need Every Experience. Some Will Come In Glory And In Beauty, And Some In Pain And What Seems Like Ugliness. But - They Are. Life Consists Of Opposites In Balance.