I Hope That In This

However You Must Have Sensed A Lurking 'but' Skulking Beneath My Happy, Blithe, And Chipper Exterior. A Minuscule Vexation, Like The Teeniest Lump Of Raw Liver Sticking To The Inside Of My Boot.

Talk Is Free But The Wise Man Chooses When To Spend His Words.

When You Reach The Little House, The Place Your Journey Started, You Will Recognize It, Although It Will Seem Much Smaller Than You Remember. Walk Up The Path, And Through The Garden Gate You Never Saw Before But Once. And Then Go Home. Or Make A Home. And Rest.

Every Lover Is, In His Heart, A Madman, And, In His Head, A Minstrel.

There Were People You Could Hug, And Then There Was Silas.