If you listen to the wind very carefully, you'll be able to hear me whisper my love for you.

There's a gentle sigh which descends like billowing silk upon the soul that accepts its coming death. It's a gentle pocket of air in the turbulence of everyday life... the silk settles around you as if it has been drifting towards the earth forever and has finally found it's target. The flag of defeat has been mercifully dropped and, in this action, the loss is not so bad. Defeat itself is defeated by the embrace of defeat, and death is swallowed up in victory.

If you listen to the wind very carefully, you'll be able to hear me whisper my love for you.

Love is as strong as death, as hard as hell.

Heaven is an idea constructed by man to help him cope with the fact that life on earth is both brutally short and, paradoxically, far too long.

Only a man unable to handle the actual world would create another one in which to hide.

I am not a hero in soul and never will be, but I am better than I was before. Or so I tell myself; and for now that is enough.