For I am a peddler of words lost in space and time filling in gaps of insignificance to outright the inconceivable.
When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Sometimes, I Don't Wish Paris
I will let the waters engulf us. Let alone skyscrapers bow before us. This place is dressed for the occasion. Let them breathe, breathe nothing but us. ♥ -Ken Briz
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