A word only writes its night and rides its dream.
My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.
Disease often comes with a smiling face.
When the star dies, Its eye closes; tired of watching, It flies back to its first bright dream.
It is not possible to express the most precious insights, To see all that craves to be seen, To visit even the closest neighbors in the universe, To learn all that needs to be learned, To live without dying, And I am sad about it. But I lived And I am happy about that.
When within yourself you find the road, the right road will open.