Laughter is not laughter; it is a groan coming from the bosom of these houses - no - not houses, shacks that leap out of the red dirt and stone, thin like smoke, fragile like kite paper, balancing on their rickety pillars as broomsticks on the edge of a juggler's nose.

What is implied by the standards of logical consistency and factual accuracy is that nothing be suppressed and nothing ignored.

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

My mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.