We Are All Naturally Xenophobic.

Fishing Tournaments Seem A Little Like Playing Tennis With Living Balls.

All Artists As A Type Seem To Suffer A Great Deal, But Then So Do Miners.

When We Die We Are Only Stories In The Minds Of Others, I Thought

I Was A Dog On A Short Chain / And Now There's No Chain.

I Did Not Want To Live Out My Life In The Strenuous Effort To Hold A Ghost World Together. It Was Plain As The Stars That Time Herself Moved In Grand Tidal Sweeps Rather Than The Tick-tocks We Suffocate Within, And That I Must Reshape Myself To Fully Inhabit The Earth Rather Than Dawdle In The Sump Of My Foibles.