Memories Are Nice Little Possessions. As Long

Love Wasn't The Soft, Silky Words The Poets Spoke Of. Love,with It's Twin Edges, Was The One Factor That Weakened So Many Women, That Pushed Them To Compromised Their Own Wants, Their Own Needs For The Needs And Wants Of Another.

The Tune Was Sad, As The Best Of Ireland Was, Melancholy And Lovely As A Lover's Tears.

Love's Scary, And Sometimes It's Transient. But It's Worth The Risks And The Nerves. It's Even Worth The Pain.

When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Eat Ribs.

When We Grow Up, We Lose The Talent For Loving Without Restrictions.