He keeps looking at his bag and I shake my head at him, smiling, "It's not going anywhere, Niall. I think Buddy likes us too much to run off with a bag around him."
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth. — Kate Chopin, The Awakening
