I'll enter some faculty or other, get a degree in a sunject that doesn't interest me but that will help me earn a living. Painting will just recede to the background, and I'll end up forgetting my vocation.

Beneath the codes are numbers and alphabet

nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from. There's nobody here I can love, all the people I could love are dead or elsewhere. Who knows where they are or what their names are now? They might as well be nowhere, as I am for them. I too am a missing person.

Next time I tell you someone from Texas should not be president of the United States, please pay attention.

Written By Molly Ivins

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