Mischief Nodded. 'it's True,' He Conceded. 'you're

There Is No Such Thing As Originality. It Has All Been Said Before, Suffered Before. If A Person Knows That, Is It Any Wonder Love Becomes Mechanical And Death Just A Scene To Be Shunned? There Is No Absolute Knowledge To Be Gained From Either. Just Another Ride On The Merry-go-round, Another Blurred Scene Of Faces Smiling And Faces Grieved.

She Wanted Nothing That He Could Offer Her, Except Perhaps His Absence.

Behind Their Eyes The Hope Was Sickening And In Many, Dead. They Lived From Event To Event With A Subtle Terror Of The Gap Between, Filling Up Their Lives With Distractions To Avoid The Emptiness Where Curiosity Should Have Been.

Words Are Sexier Than Flesh.

Your Flesh Is Killing Your Spirit. You Have Forsaken Yourself.