In the First World War, people would be receiving letters from loved ones who had been dead for weeks, and they would not know until that black-bordered telegram arrived. I remember, of course, when it was letters only, or the telephone, and you did not make expensive long-distance calls unless it was, "Come home to the funeral," or the like.

Although from you I far must roam, do not be broken hearted. We two, who in the souls are one, are never truly parted.

That was when they suspended the Constitution. They said it would be temporary. There wasn't even any rioting in the streets. People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn't even an enemy you could put your finger on.

Though as he'd say, what is 'belief' but a willingness to suspend the negatives?

The road to death is a lonely highway, and longer than it apears, even when it leads straight down from the scaffold, by way of a rope; and it's a dark road, with never any moon shining on it, to light your way.

Your hand is a warm stone I hold between two words.

I am too old to have ever been very worried about what "genre" any given book of mine might be. I read everything. I am easily amused.