Those who are absent, by its means become present; [mail] is the consolation of life. (Voltaire)

Into the grave with it. Nail it down into a wooden box the corpse. Carry it out of the house on the shoulders of hirelings. Thrust it out of men's sight into a long hole in the ground, into the grave, to rot, to feed the mass of its creeping worms and to be devoured by scuttling plump-bellied rats. (James Joyce)

I just want...more. (Bridget Fonda)


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(Last Modified on 07/20/03 11:37:35 PM)