Smell Is A Fallen Angel.

I Find That Fact And Fancy Look Alike Across The Years That Link The Past With The Present.

Truly I Have Looked In The Very Heart Of Darkness And Refused To Yield To Its Paralyzing Influence, But In Spirit I Am One Of Those Who Walk The Morning.

Few Pleasures There Are Indeed Without An Aftertouch Of Pain, But That Is The Preservation Which Keeps Them Sweet.

There's Only One Story, The Story Of Your Life.

What If In My Waking Hours A Sound Should Ring Through The Silent Halls Of Hearing? ... Would The Bow And String Tension Of Life Snap? Would The Heart Over Weighted With Sudden Joy Stop Beating For Very Excess Of Happiness?