Many Words Have Been Granted Me, And

She Had Won The Battle Against Her Memories. But One Form Of Torture Remained, Untouched By The Years, The Torture Of The Word "why?

When I Die, I Hope To Go To Heaven, Whatever The Hell That Is.

She Stood At The Window, Her Arms Spread Wide, Holding On To Each Side Of The Frame, It Was As If She Held A Piece Of The City.

Do Not Help Your Jailers To Pretend That Their Jail Is Your Natural State Of Existence.

The Virtue Involved In Helping Those One Loves Is Not 'selflessness' Or 'sacrifice,' But Integrity.