Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground.

Keep true to the rare music in your heart, to the marvelous and unique form that is and shall always be nothing else but you. Keep to that and you can do no wrong, which I realize is easier said than done.

Prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book.

Why did god create a dual universe? So he might say ‘Be not like me. I am alone.' And it might be heard.

My hands resemble some ancient tree: the roots that bind up the earth, the rock and the ceaselessly nibbling wordms.

Even the brightest magnesium flare can do little against such dark except blind the eyes of the one holding it. Thus one craves what by seeing one has in fact not seen.

The ruminations are mine, let the world be yours.