To Each Our Own Hamlet.

The Universe Always Moves From An Ordered State To A Disordered One; That A Glass May Fall To The Ground And Shatter Yet You Never See A Broken Glass Reassemble Itself And Then Jump Back On The Table.

We Were Developing A Machine That Used Egg White, Heat And Sugar To Synthesize Methanol When A Power Surge Caused An Implosion. Owens Was Meringued. By The Time We Chipped Him Out The Poor Chap Had Expired.

Everything Comes To An End. A Good Bottle Of Wine, A Summer’s Day, A Long-running Sitcom, One’s Life, And Eventually Our Species. The Question For Many Of Us Is Not That Everything Will Come To An End But When. And Can We Do Anything Vaguely Useful Until It Does?

If You Enjoyed Laughing In The Face Of Death, You Might Like To Have A Crack At High Saffron. One Hundred Merits, And All You Have To Do Is Take A Look.' 'i Understand There's A One Hundred Percent Fatality Rate?' 'true. But Up Until The Moment Of Death There Was A One Hundred Percent Survival Rate. Really, I Shouldn't Let Anything As Meaningless As Statistics Put You Off.

I Also Read About Heathcliff's Unexpected Three-year Career In Hollywood Under The Name Buck Stallion And His Eventual Return To The Pages Of Wuthering Heights.