There Are Two Kinds Of

As I Ate The Oysters With Their Strong Taste Of The Sea And Their Faint Metallic Taste That The Cold White Wine Washed Away, Leaving Only The Sea Taste And The Succulent Texture, And As I Drank Their Cold Liquid From Each Shell And Washed It Down With The Crisp Taste Of The Wine, I Lost The Empty Feeling And Began To Be Happy And To Make Plans.

In A Power Hungry, Power Worshipping Society, Men Label Themselves Atheist.

For A True Writer Each Book Should Be A New Beginning, Where He Tries Again For Something That Is Beyond Attainment.

Love Is Something That Hangs Up Behind The Bathroom Door And Smells Of Lysol.

His Talent Was As Natural As The Pattern That Was Made By The Dust On A Butterfly's Wings. At One Time He Understood It No More Than The Butterfly Did And He Did Not Know When It Was Brushed Or Marred.