You have no idea what it__ like, knowing you__e going to die in an hour. Sixty short minutes are now the only things that separate you from the other side. From the country undiscovered by the living. From that inevitable end we all must face. Guess that__ what the whole death row thing is about, though. If you ask me now if I feel sorry for what I__e done, I__ have to tell you plainly the answer is no. I__ do it all again, given the opportunity. I__ kill them all. Over, and over, and over. The court-appointed psychiatrist described me as having a __evere antisocial personality disorder with excessive violent tendencies._ But I__ letting you know now I never stood out in a crowd. Never drew attention to myself. I was just a regular woman, one you__ see in the convenience store, and smile at politely. Who would have ever suspected what I was capable of? All those people. Those useless, useless people. I gave them a use. I was an artist. And my canvas of choice was the clean human skull.

THE CONSCIOUS HUMANYou are not just white,but a rainbow of colors.You are not just black,but golden.You are not just a nationality,but a citizen of the world.You are not just for the right or left,but for what is right over the wrong.You are not just rich or poor,but always wealthy in the mind and heart.You are not perfect, but flawed.You are flawed, but you are just.You may just be conscious human,but you are also a magnificentreflection of God.Suzy Kassem__he Conscious Human_ Poetry by Suzy Kassem

The subsistence mentality of a person is a prison in which his personal joy is detained. If you want to live in joy, you don't live for yourself alone. Live for others too!

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness and the happiness of others.

Never surrender to you're passions. Dream and live to excess.

At some point in the night she had a dream. Or it was possible that she was partially awake, and was only remembering a dream? She was alone among the rocks on a dark coast beside the sea. The water surged upward and fell back languidly, and in the distance she heard surf breaking slowly on a sandy shore. It was comforting to be this close to the surface of the ocean and gaze at the intimate nocturnal details of its swelling and ebbing. And as she listened to the faraway breakers rolling up onto the beach, she became aware of another sound entwined with the intermittent crash of waves: a vast horizontal whisper across the bossom of the sea, carrying an ever-repeated phrase, regular as a lighthouse flashing: Dawn will be breaking soon. She listened a long time: again and again the scarcely audible words were whispered across the moving water. A great weight was being lifted slowly from her; little by little her happiness became more complete, and she awoke. Then she lay for a few minutes marveling the dream, and once again fell asleep.