And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.

My cholera's acting up again.

Things aren't good or bad in and of themselves. It's what we do with them that makes them so.

Everything is randomly connected.

Beauty, grace, and charm my foot. It's a school for sadists with good tea-serving skills.

The world expected girls to pluck and primp and put on heels. Meanwhile, boys dressed in rumpled T-shirts and baggy pants and misplace their combs, and yet you were suppose to fall at their feet? Unacceptable.

She's no beauty, mate