My Life Is A Pitiful, Mechanical Thing

Loose Lips Sink Ships.

A Wife Is The Earth Itself, Changing Hands, Bearing Scars.

Root Out All The "to Be" Verbs In Your Prose And Bludgeon Them Until Dead. No "it Was" Or "they Are" Or "i Am." Don't Let It Be, Make It Happen.

Memory Is A Complicated Thing, A Relative To Truth, But Not Its Twin.

The Death Of Something Living Is The Price Of Our Own Survival, And We Pay It Again And Again. We Have No Choice. It Is The One Solemn Promise Every Life On Earth Is Born And Bound To Keep.