Journalists, bless our black little hearts, are petty and vindictive and love to flog our hallowed journalism ethics whenever there’s some momentary advantage and/or amusement value in doing so.

Waking up one morning to realize how much you have grown, how old you have become how much time you wasted on other people than yourself.

True love allowed each person to follow their own path, knowing that they would never lose touch with their Soulmate.

People don't vote. Instinct tells them it's useless.

Written By Frank Herbert

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