Time Spent With A Cat Is Never

At The Top Of The Iron Staircase Leading To The Stage, The Good, Dry, Dusty Warmth Wraps Me Round Like A Comfortable Dirty Cloak.

We Only Do Well The Things We Like Doing.

Researchers, With Science As Their Authority, Will Be Able To Cut Animals Up, Alive, Into Small Pieces, Drop Them From A Great Height To See If They Are Shattered By The Fall, Or Deprive Them Of Sleep For Sixteen Days And Nights Continuously For The Purposes Of An Iniquitous Monograph. . . . Animal Trust, Undeserved Faith, When At Last Will You Turn Away From Us? Shall We Never Tire Of Deceiving, Betraying, Tormenting Animals Before They Cease To Trust Us?

One Keeps Forgetting Old Age Up To The Very Brink Of The Grave.

In Its Early Stages, Insomnia Is Almost An Oasis In Which Those Who Have To Think Or Suffer Darkly Take Refuge.