I contemplate the notion that maybe regrets are a process of accumulation of time, as unavoidable as a closet full of clothes and more bags of them in the attic. Is accumulated baggage what makes people get old? If so, they need to clean out their fecking attics, send the stuff to consignment shops and remember how to walk around naked like kids, little bellies sticking out, always ready for a good laugh.

There are really only two positions one can take toward anything in life: hope or fear. Hope strengthens, fear kills.

There's nothing I can't live with. Only things I won't live without.

What have you stuffed in your pants, MacKeltar?" she demanded. "Nothing that wasn't God-given," he replied stiffly. Gwen stared. "There's no way that's part of you. You must have gotten a sock or something stuck. Oh, my." She pried her gaze from his groin.

Oh, please," I rolled my eyes, "You're a leftie, Barrons." "Touche, Ms. Lane," he murmured.

Like a horse, honey, somebody's gonna break you.' 'Never. Going. To. Happen.

Being threatened seems to being out the worst in me.