Lucky Is The Man Who

Maybe There Are Times When An Honest Hatred Serves Us Better Than Love Corrupted By Sentimentality, Meretriciousness, Sententiousness, Cuteness.

My Mother Refused To Let Me Fail. So I Insisted.

Nobody But A Southerner Knows The Wrenching Rinsing Sadness Of The Cities Of The North.

Consciously Cultivate The Ordinary.

Bourbon Does For Me What The Piece Of Cake Did For Proust.