Prohibition? I Drink To Its

All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

She Was Tired Of Being Told How It Was By This Generation, Who’d Botched Things So Badly. They’d Sold Their Children A Pack Of Lies: God And Country. Love Your Parents. All Is Fair. And Then They’d Sent Those Boys, Her Brother, Off To Fight A Great Monster Of A War That Maimed And Killed And Destroyed Whatever Was Inside Them. Still They Lied, Expecting Her To Mouth The Words And Play Along. Well, She Wouldn’t. She Knew Now That The World Was A Long Way From Fair. She Knew The Monsters Were Real.

Reality Is A State Of Mind. To The Banker, The Money In His Ledger Book Is All Very Real, Though He Doesn't Actually See It Or Touch It. But To The Brahma, It Simply Doesn't Exist The Way The Air And The Earth, Pain And Loss Do. To Him, The Banker's Reality Is Folly. To The Banker, The Brahma's Ideas Are As Inconsequential As Dust.

But Sons Are A Different Matter To A Man. More A Duty Than An Indulgence.

I’m Not Interested In Being Polite. It’s False.