When you have a sorrow that is too great it leaves no room for any other.
The vague torment of ... ambition.
One forges one's style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
Every wave is a water sprite who swims in the current, each current is a path which snakes towards my palace, and my palace is fluidly built at the bottom of the lake, in the triangle of earth, fire and water.
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
Through the centuries, the history of peoples is but a lesson in mutual tolerance.