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.

It's my petty fear of personal rejection that allows so many true evils to exist. My cowardice enables atrocities.

It's obsequious little nicety-nice girls like me who allow assholes to run the world: Miss Harlot O'Harlots, billionaire phony tree huggers, hypocrite drug-snorting, weed-puffing peace activists who fund the mass-murdering drug cartels and perpetuate crushing poverty in dirt-poor banana republics. It's my petty fear of personal rejection that allows so many true evils to exist. My cowardice enables atrocities.

Every person has the power to change their fate if they are brave enough to fight for what they desire more than anything.

Try to be happy in this present moment, and put not off being so to a time to come--as though that time should be of another make from this which has already come and is ours.

Merry hearts are vulnerable to death, don't be over-joyed to the state of oblivion, lest the enemy poison your meal.