Leaves turned to soil beneath my feet. Thus it is, trees eat themselves.

Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.

Mother used to say escape is never further than the nearest book.

The act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.

The mind abhors a vacancy & is wont to people it with phantoms.

Why does any martyr cooperate with his judases?...We see a game beyond the endgame...As Seneca warned Nero: No matter how many of us you kill, you will never kill your successor.

Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.