Thinking Of Nothing. Trying To Think Of

While I Wasn't Certain How I Felt About Spiritualists, I Was Certain Enough About The Type Of People Who Were Drawn To Them. Only People Unhappy In The Present Seek To Know The Future.

I Love The Structural Part Of The Writing Process.

Cassandra Wondered At The Mind's Cruel Ability To Toss Up Flecks Of The Past. Why, As She Neared Her Life's End, Her Grandmother's Head Should Ring With The Voices Of People Long Since Gone. Was It Always This Way? Did Those With Passage Booked On Death's Silent Ship Always Scan The Dock For Faces Of The Long-departed?

Gerry?' Laurel Had To Strain To Hear Thought The Noise On The Other End Of The Line. 'gerry? Where Are You?' 'london. A Phone Booth On Fleet Street.' 'the City Still Has Working Phone Booths?' 'it Would Appear So. Unless This Is The Tardis, In Which Case I'm In Serious Trouble.

She Doesn't Know I Cry For The Changing Times. That Just As I Reread Favourite Books, Some Small Part Of Me Hoping For A Different Ending, I Find Myself Hoping Against Hope That The War Will Never Come. That This Time, Somehow, It Will Leave Us Be.