The unicorn is a mythical beast.
With sixty staring me in the face, I have developed inflammation of the sentence structure and definite hardening of the paragraphs.
Looks can be deceiving; it's eating that's believing.
God bless... God damn.
Humor and pathos, tears and laughter are, in the highest expression of human character and achievement, inseparable.
But what is all this fear of and opposition to Oblivion? What is the matter with the soft Darkness, the Dreamless Sleep?