Writing. Love is writing.
...if you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgement on what words conceal?
Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
There's a black rose growing in your garden.
remember the golden apple-trees; O, do not pity them, as you watch them drop one by one, for they fall exhausted, numb, blind but in certain ecstasy, for theirs is the hunger for Paradise.