Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.
Art is a mystery. A mystery is something immeasurable.
in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems
Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go.
guilt is the cause of more marauders than history's most obscene disauders
If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.