I Get About Five Memoirs Per Week

Those Are Only Rumors Of Suffering. Real Suffering Has A Face And A Smell. It Lasts In The Most Intense Form No Matter What You Drape Over It. And It Knows Your Name.

Love Is The Only Passion Which Includes In Its Dreams The Happiness Of Someone Else.

Such A Small, Pure Object A Poem Could Be, Made Of Nothing But Air A Tiny String Of Letters, Maybe Small Enough To Fit In The Palm Of Your Hand. But It Could Blow Everybody's Head Off.

Sure The World Breeds Monsters, But Kindness Grows Just As Wild.

I Don't Think I Look Like The Pope's Favorite Catholic - At Least Not Under Close Scrutiny.