When one enjoys the joyful ride of life, he fails to listen to the sirens which comes from the person he trusts, until he meets with an accident.

Memories come to mind like excavated statues that have misplaced their heads.

Best to let the broken glass be broken glass, let it splinter into smaller pieces and dust and scatter. Let the cracks between things widen until they are no longer cracks but the new places for things. That was where they were now. The world wasn't ending: it had ended and now they were in the new place. They could not recognize it because they had never seen it before.

High on a rocky promontory sat an Electric Monk on a bored horse.

Written By Douglas Adams

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links