If you have deserted folly straightway without dally you will part into pristine pieces of boredom.
On the ocean fray some of us parlay our presumptions, dislodge with chisel the default character.
Life is circumference and risk, the hollowed out notions we’ve made a necessity of.
It is the walking part of the soul and the distance it must succeed, an ambulation one with the sweatband and the smirk of the horizon.
Landlords of thought are heavy bells, push them aside.
