“Another friend of mine once told me in a deep depression that his marriage was "like running a preschool with a roommate you used to date." Nice.”

“There are thousands and thousands of people out there leading lives of quiet, screaming desperation, where they work long, hard hours at jobs they hate to enable them to buy things they don't need to impress people they don't like.”

“It is the deep, salty stickiness of food that intrigues me more than any other quality.”

“You can not be the judge of another's wishes. If you love someone, you must believe that they know what is best for themselves.”

“My seams gape wide so I'm tossed asideTo rot on a lonely shore,While the leaves and mould like a shroud unfold, For the last of my trails are o'er,But I float in dreams on Northland streams That never again I'll see,As I lie on the marge of the old portage With grief for company.When the sunset gilds the timbered hills That guard Timagami,And the moon beams play on far James Bay By the brink of the frozen sea,In phantom guise my spirit flies As the dream blades dip and swingWhere the waters flow from the Long Ago In the spell of the beck'ning spring.Do the cow-moose call on the MontrealWhen the first frost bites the air,And the mists unfold from the red and gold That the autumn ridges wear?When the white falls roar as they did of yore On the Lady Evelyn,Do the square-tail leap from the black pool deep Where the pictured rocks begin?Oh! the fur fleet sings on Temiscaming As the ashen paddles bend,And the crews carouse at Rupert's House At the sullen winter's end;But my days are done where the lean wolves run, And I ripple no more the path,Where the grey geese race 'cross the red moon's face From the white winds Arctic wrath.Tho' the death-fraught way from the Saguenay To the storied Nipigon,Once knew me well, now a crumbling shell I watch as the years roll on,And in memory's haze I live the days That forever are gone from me,As I rot on the marge of the old portage With grief for company.”

“So far, in the room itself there had not been a sound. When the clock had struck ten, as it seemed to me, years ago, there came a rustling noise, from the direction of the bed. Feet stepped upon the floor,— moving towards where I was lying. It was, of course, now broad day, and I, presently, perceived that a figure, clad in some queer coloured garment, was standing at my side, looking down at me. It stooped, then knelt. My only covering was unceremoniously thrown from off me, so that I lay there in my nakedness. Fingers prodded me then and there, as if I had been some beast ready for the butcher’s stall. A face looked into mine, and, in front of me, were those dreadful eyes. Then, whether I was dead or living, I said to myself that this could be nothing human,— nothing fashioned in God’s image could wear such a shape as that. Fingers were pressed into my cheeks, they were thrust into my mouth, they touched my staring eyes, shut my eyelids, then opened them again, and— horror of horrors!— the blubber lips were pressed to mine— the soul of something evil entered into me in the guise of a kiss.”

“Then this travesty of manhood reascended to his feet, and said, whether speaking to me or to himself I could not tell,”