It is not easy to compete when you have LD, but it is possible.
We're all cremated equal.
The chickens have come home to roast.
I look like the wrath of grapes.
I wasn't under the impersonation you meant me.
The coffee will be ready in a jitney.
I'm a member of the weeper sex.
All artists, they say, are a little mad. This madness is, to a certain extent, a self-created myth designed to keep the generality away from the phenomenally close-knit creative community. Yet, in the world of the artists, the consciously eccentric are always respectful and admiring if those who have the courage to be genuinely a little mad.
Writing is nothing less than thought transference, the ability to send one's ideas out into the world, beyond time and distance, taken at the value of the words, unbound from the speaker.
I've always believed that we were, each of us, put here for a reason, that there is a plan, somehow a divine plan for all of us. I know now that whatever days are left to me belong to him.
He who chooses the infinite has been chosen by the infinite.