November’s a burn and an ache.
How many times can summer turn to fall in one life?
Poetry is the dark side of the moon.
Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth.
It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable.
The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart.