The race of children possesses magically sagacious powers.
Life is a disease.
At times ... one is downright thankful for the self-absorption of other people.
Heroics are not easily had for the young in our times. Perhaps that is why they go to such extremes to create their own dangers.
What did a few ripples in the flesh matter when, all too soon, now or later, that flesh would be making its return journey to dust?
Who wanted to creep along in comfort when there was one chance in a thousand of flying?
You're supposed to get tired planting bulbs. But it's an agreeable tiredness.
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