Was it possible to feel nostalgic about something that had never happened to him, possible for nostalgia to be taken in by the body as a free pathogen to infect the consciousness with stray sentiments? Perhaps, in his dreams, he had traveled back in time, or even drifted into another dimension of space-time and inhabited the body, experiences, and nostalgia of another. To even envisage so allowed the trauma of those lost moments, though not his own, to draw from him a certain envy for the entity in whose memories he had basked vicariously. . .Perhaps, nostalgia was a microorganism. . .the bacterium that infected. . . Yes. . .maybe he was sick.

Then I glanced at the ring on my finger.The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever. I know where I came from__ut where did all you zombies come from?I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is one thing I do not take. I did once__nd you all went away.So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light.You aren__ really there at all. There isn__ anybody but me__ane__ere alone in the dark.I miss you dreadfully!

Spring time is a time for new adventure.

Never own more than you can carry in both hands at a dead run.

In Wilson's scale of evaluations breakfast rated just after life itself and ahead of the chance of immortality.

Intense sunlight rained down on a half-submerged city. Waves crashed between buildings that stood like waterlogged tombstones. Skyscrapers of smashed glass and twisted rusting metal jutted from the churning swell as islands of broken dreams. A familiar tower with a familiar clock face_Big Ben. London stared back at Blue. What was left of it. A sea-drowned cemetery for a time and a place long dead.