In This World, Either You're Virtuous Or

The Adversary She Found Herself Forced To Fight Was Not Worth Matching Or Beating; It Was Not A Superior Ability Which She Would Have Found Honour In Challenging; It Was Ineptitude - A Grey Spread Of Cotton That Seemed Soft And Shapeless, That Could Offer No Resistance To Anything Or Anybody, Yet Managed To Be A Barrier In Her Way. She Stood, Disarmed, Before The Riddle Of What Made This Possible, She Could Find No Answer.

It Is A Policeman’s Duty To Retrieve Stolen Property And Return It To Its Owners. But When Robbery Becomes The Purpose Of The Law, And The Policeman’s Duty Becomes, Not Protection, But The Plunder Of Property - Then It Is An Outlaw Who Has To Become A Policeman.

I Think It's A Sin To Sit Down And Let Your Life Go Without Making A Try For It.

The Leaves Streamed Down, Trembling In The Sun. They Were Not Green, Only A Few, Scattered Through The Torrent, Stood Out In Single Drops Of Green So Bright And Pure That It Hurt The Eyes; The Rest Were Not A Color, But A Light, The Substance Of Fire On Metal, Living Sparks Without Edges. And It Looked As If The Forest Were A Spread Of Light Boiling Slowly To Produce This Color, The Green Rising In Small Bubbles, The Condensed Essence Of Spring. The Trees Met, Blending Over The Road And The Spots Of Sun On The Ground Moved With The Shifting Of The Branches, Like A Conscious Caress.

To Be The Kind Of Writer You Want To Be, You Must First Be The Kind Of Thinker You Want To Be.