The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.

MY river runs to thee: Blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply. Oh sea, look graciously! I ’ll fetch thee brooks From spotted nooks,— Say, sea, Take me!

Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane

Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.

Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.

Nothing is the force that renovates the World.