Spring is like a perhaps hand
-Before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were.
Be of love a little more careful than of anything.
Only by you my heart always moves.
great men burn bridges before they come to them
If at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and working and feeling, you find you've written one line of one poem, you'll be very lucky indeed.