If You Don't Stop Apologizing, You're Going

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.

Doors Lead To Things And I've Never Met One I Haven't Wanted To Open.

A Twinge At The Edge Of Her Lips And She Continued, The Soft, Slow Lilt Of Recitation: "ancient Walls That Sing The Distant Hours.

I've Heard It Said That Children Born To Stressful Times Never Shake The Air Of Woe . . . .

She Did As She Felt, And She Felt A Great Deal.