Is not the beautiful moon, that inspires poets, the same moon which angers the silence of the sea with a terrible roar?

Our pain carves out a larger space for love to fill.

You are good when you are fully awake in your speech, Yet you are not evil when you sleep while your tongue staggers without purpose. And even stumbling speech may strengthen a weak tongue.

Wailing and lamentation befit those who stand before the throne of life and depart without leaving in its hands a drop of the sweat of their brows or the blood of their hearts.

Vague and nebulous is the beginning of all things, but not their end.

I said to Life, I would hear Death speak. And Life raised her voice a little higher and said, You hear him now.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.