Suddenly an ice-cold wind went through the vast hall, and the blind mother could feel that Death had arrived.  'How have you been able to find your way here?' he asked, 'how have you been able to get here faster than I have?' 'I'm a mother," she said.

Their fights didn’t so much end as dissipate, like a drop of ink in a bowl of water, with a residual taint that lingered.

Originality must compound with inheritance.

There&#39;s a great deal of love for one another on this club. Perhaps we&#39;re living in Camelot.

Written By Jerry Kramer

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