He who writes well runs the civilization. Everyone else does the grunt work.

I once had a lovewho folded secrets between her thighs like napkins and concealed memories in the valley of her breasts.There was no match for the freckles on her chest, and no one could mistake...

She called herself Europa, and wandered the world from girlhood till death. She believed only in her life and in her dreams. She called herself Europa, and her god was Beauty.