The painter constructs, the photographer discloses. >>
The writer is either a practicing recluse or a delinquent, guilt-ridde >>
Depression is melancholy minus its charms -- the animation, the fits. >>
My veins are filled, once a week with a Neapolitan carpet cleaner dist >>
Cancer patients are lied to, not just because the disease is (or is th >>
We need cancer because, by the very fact of its insurability, it makes >>
Cancer patients are lied to, not just because the disease is (or is thought to be) a death sentence, but because it is felt to be obscene -- in the original meaning of that word: ill-omened, abominable, repugnant to the senses.