When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know.
Widow. The word consumes itself.
Happy! That is indefinable as far as states of being go.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start.
I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.