Tell Me, O Muse, Of

There Is A Strength In The Even Of Very Sorry Men

Look At Me! I'm A Puffy Pink Cloud!

Men Are So Quick To Blame The Gods: They Say That We Devise Their Misery. But They Themselves- In Their Depravity- Design Grief Greater Than The Griefs That Fate Assigns.

We All Scribble Poetry.

Life And Death Are Balanced As It Were On The Edge Of A Razor