These Are Frightening Times...when She

Happiness Is The Lucky Pane Of Glass You Carry In Your Head. It Takes All Your Cunning Just To Hang On To It, And Once It's Smashed You Have To Move Into A Different Sort Of Life.

A Childhood Is What Anyone Wants To Remember Of It. It Leaves Behind No Fossils, Except Perhaps In Fiction.

It's Hard Work Being A Person, You Have To Do It Every Single Day.

It's The Arrangement Of Events Which Makes The Stories. It's Throwing Away, Compressing, Underlining. Hindsight Can Give Structure To Anything, But You Have To Be Able To See It. Breathing, Waking And Sleeping: Our Lives Are Steamed And Shaped Into Stories. Knowing That Is What Keeps Me From Going Insane, And Though I Don't Like To Admit It, Sometimes It's The Only Thing.

Anyone's Childhood Can Be An Act Of Disablement If Rehearsed And Replayed And Squinted At In A Certain Light. . .