It's a small world. It keeps recrossing itself.
If I want to act relaxed, it's going to take all my cunning, skill, and concentration.
Your turn has come to sift through the dreck of humanity for rare specks of originality
The soul is a verb." He impales a lit candle on a spike. "Not a noun.
I added 'writers' to my list of people not to trust. They make everything up.
The mind has a mind of its own. It shows us pictures. Pictures of the past and the might-one-day-be. This mind's mind exerts its own will, too, and has its own voice.