Doing Stuff Never Feels As Good As

Walt Whitman Is Hot! I Mean, That Guy Could Sound His Barbaric Yawps Over The Roofs Of My World Any Time.

My Stomach Sank. Jp Had Come So Close. His Immigrant Parents Had Sacrificed So Much.

I Leaned In Toward Her, Suddenly Overwhelmed With The Feeling That We Must Kiss.

Because There Is No Glory In Illness. There Is No Meaning To It. There Is No Honor In Dying Of.

The Romans Knew It: Quod Me Alit Me Extinguit, They Said: That Which Nourishes Me, Extinguishes Me.