His Heart Danced Upon Her

Can't Bring Back Time. Like Holding Water In Your Hand.

Hold To The Now, The Here, Through Which All Future Plunges To The Past.

I Should Tell You That Honestly, On My Honour Of A Nearwicked, I Always Think In A Wordworth's Of That Primed Favourite Continental Poet, Daunty, Gouty And Shopkeeper, A.g., Whom The Generality Admoyers In This That Is And That This Is To Come.

Every Jackass Going The Roads Thinks He Has Ideas.

If It Is Thus, I Ask Emphatically Whence Comes This Thusness.