If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Would Ride.

In Any Case, Fire Burns; That's Its Nature, And You Can't Expect To Change That. You Can Use It To Cook Your Meat Or To Burn Down Your Neighbor's House. And Is The Fire You Use For Cooking Any Different From The One You Use For Burning? And Does That Mean You Should Eat Your Supper Raw?" Maddy Shook Her Head, Still Puzzled. "so What You're Saying Is . . . I Shouldn't Play With Fire," She Said At Last. Of Course You Should," Said One-eye Gently. "but Don't Be Surprised If The Fire Plays Back.

I Let It Go. It's Like Swimming Against The Current. It Exhausts You. After A While, Whoever You Are, You Just Have To Let Go, And The River Brings You Home.

Wine Talks; Ask Anyone. The Oracle At The Street Corner; The Uninvited Guest At The Wedding Feast; The Holy Fool. It Ventriloquizes. It Has A Million Voices. It Unleashes The Tongue, Teasing Out Secrets You Never Meant To Tell, Secrets You Never Even Knew. It Shouts, Rants, Whispers. It Speaks Of Great Plans, Tragic Loves, And Terrible Betrayals. It Screams With Laughter. It Chuckles Softly To Itself. It Weeps In Front Of Its Own Reflection. It Revives Summers Long Past And Memories Best Forgotten. Every Bottle A Whiff Of Other Times, Other Places, Everyone...a Humble Miracle

Death Should Be A Celebration. Like A Birthday. I Want To Go Up Like A Rocket When My Time Comes, And Fall Down In A Cloud Of Stars, And Hear Everyone Go: Ahh!

Remember, It's The Winners Write The History Books, And The Losers Get The Leavings.