The beast attempts a beautific look that could be mistaken for a bout of painful wind.

Sometimes we seek that which we are not yet ready to find.

Sitting in my favorite coffeehouse with a new notebook and a hot cup of java is my idea of Heaven.

I feel like I swallowed a Magritte. Like on the inside, I'm made of clouds and floating eyes, green apples, and slowly rising men in bowler hats.

There is nothing more terrifying than the absoluteness of one who believes he's right.

He took comfort in the neon signs, the wild strands of jazz creeping out of clubs whenever happy swells of people pushed through the doors in their finery.

She's no beauty, mate