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Quote by Stewart Stafford

“The Basement Morgue by Stewart Stafford A reluctant errand to a basement morgue, No mortal knew what things lurked there, The elevator shuddered to a halt, opening, To a scattered boneyard of patient beds. Totem tchotchkes of a broken system, Dead corridors stretched left and right, A charged cold-sweat silence hung, As a flaccid desk stethoscope rattled. Buried my nose in my clipboard; Had to find their machine - now! A gurney wheeled itself past me, Disappearing into an anteroom. A hanging skeleton lunged at me— Spindly fingers choked me into blackness. Rousing to bright lights, blinding me; Icy steel drawers swallowed my screams. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

Quote by Stewart Stafford

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Stewart Stafford

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“Even people whose lives have been made various by learning sometimes find it hard to keep a fast hold on their habitual views of life, on their faith in the Invisible - nay, on the sense that their past joys and sorrows are a real experience, when they are suddenly transported to a new land, where the beings around them know nothing of their history, and share none of their ideas - where their mother earth shows another lap, and human life has other forms than those on which their souls have been nourished. Minds that have been unhinged from their old faith and love have perhaps sought this Lethean influence of exile in which the past becomes dreamy because its symbols have all vanished, and the present too is dreamy because it is linked with no memories.”

“Studying in a developing/third-world country is way more intense and formative than studying in a first-world fancy country. It makes you so much more open-minded, adaptive, and confident. You become so much more real. When you have to shit on two little bricks into a hole the size of a tennis ball at an elementary school in the countryside, or sleep in a farmer's yurt after not bathing for five days, you become a much more easygoing person. It teaches you to value experience over material things real fast.”

“He does not see that we all do what we must to survive. Some laugh, some cry, some bang the world with fists, some run, but it all sums up the same: they make do. The world swarms with people, each one drowning, but each swimming a different stroke to the far shore. —Any Friend of Nicholas Nickleby’s Is a Friend of Mine”

“It's you," I said, not able to look away. "It's how I feel when I'm with you. How I think I've always felt. You're my lightning-struck heart. It doesn't matter about the cornerstone. It doesn't matter about who I am or who you are. Not to me. I think it would have always been this way for me. Even if we had never escaped the slums. Ever since the beginning. Ever since I've known you, you've struck my heart, and now I have to let you go because you're not mine to keep. I need someone that I can be strong for. But I need someone who can also be strong for me.”