The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart.
It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable.
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.
All forms of landscape are autobiographical.
How many times can summer turn to fall in one life?