A woman is like whiskey. She evaporates a little over time, distilled by disappointments and grief. One can never predict if the angels will take the best of her or the worst. Only time will tell if the woman that remains will be bitter, dispirited or aged to perfection.

History, of course, is never real. People either glorify it or horrify it. Or at the very least color it.

Some women can touch a man and heal like Jesus. The man who sees sunrise from a Belle woman's bed will swear he's been born again.

Life is like the stock market. Some days you're up. Some days you're down. And some days you feel like something the bull left behind.

Some women run with wolves, but the majority would be much happier with your basic lap dog.

The lord giveth and most women piss it away. Perhaps this is why they lack the equipment to aim.

You are what you are, until you decide to be different.