Somewhere, there, is an analogy, in a small way, if you have the patience for it. But I guess it isn't a very good anecdote. I'm better at animal stories.

Most good women are hidden treasures who are only safe because nobody looks for them.

If you looked for things to make you feel hurt and wretched and unnecessary, you were certain to find them.

You can't teach an old dogma new tricks.

Pictures pass me in long review,-- Marching columns of dead events. I was tender, and, often, true; Ever a prey to coincidence. Always knew I the consequence; Always saw what the end would be. We're as Nature has made us -- hence I loved them until they loved me.

Tonstant Weader fwowed up.

I like to think of my shining tombstone. It gives me, as you might say, something to live for.