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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, July 21, 2020

On destiny

Destiny only exists in hindsight:
it is an illusion of position.

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© 1996 - 2025
All rights reserved.
Michael C. Rush (aka M. C. Rush)
Direct inquires to:  rushmc @ webnesia.com

(Site was originally called @ Wit's End, then
The Shattered Mirror, before becoming Webnesia.)

Defender of Truth & Justice since (approx.) 1973!