When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

Maybe tell me about those letters. Confession is good for the soul."I expected her to tear into me yet again, but instead she stayed silent for several seconds, running her fingers over the trim of her blanket. "I do belive my soul is past the point of helping.""That's not true. It's never too late."She looked at the town as we walked by, her eyes heavy with fatigue. And an ache so deep, it didn't have a name. I'd seen that look in my own mirror."I gave up that right many years ago," she said. "My fate is like those envelopes-sealed and tossed aside.

Imagination doesn't always make you long for what you cannot have, but rather thrive in what you do not have.

Never underestimate the healing power of silliness and absurdity.

Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable.

I think sometimes when we find love we pretend it away, or ignore it, or tell ourselves we__e imagining it. Because it is the most painful kind of hope there is.