It Was Like Drowning, Only From The

"am I Weird?" "yeah. But So What? Everybody's Weird."

I Can't Lie And Say There Are No Bad Writers. Sorry, But There Are Lots Of Bad Writers.

He Thrusts His Fists Against The Posts And Still Insists He Sees The Ghosts.

You Can See The Goldenrod, That Most Tenacious And Pernicious And Beauteous Of All New England Flora, Bowing Away From The Wind Like A Great And Silent Congregation.

When You're Six, Most Of Your Bingo Balls Are Still Floating Around In The Draw-tank.