With A Pencil And Paper, I Could

Other Wars End Eventually In Victory, Defeat Or Exhaustion, But The War Between Men And Women Goes On Forever.

There Is A Peculiar Burning Odor In The Room, Like Explosives. The Kitchen Fills With Smoke And The Hot, Sweet, Ashy Smell Of Scorched Cookies. The War Has Begun.

With A Pencil And Paper, I Could Revise The World.

If Nothing Will Finally Survive Of Life Besides What Artists Report Of It, We Have No Right To Report What We Know To Be Lies.

There's A Rule, I Think. You Get What You Want In Life, But Not Your Second Choice Too.