Unbeing dead isn't being alive.

For surely as each November has its April, mysteries only are significant; and one mystery-of-mysteries creates them all: nothing false and possible is love (who's imagined,therefore limitless) love's to giving as to keeping's give; as yes is to if,love is to yes

In just - Spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee

Here's to opening and upward... and to yourself and up with you and up with and up with laughing.

...on forever's very now we stand.

The only man, woman, or child who wrote a simple declarative sentence with seven grammatical errors "is dead."

The three saddest things are the ill wanting to be well, the poor wanting to be rich, and the constant traveler saying 'anywhere but here'.