White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul You live again in time, slender and silent.

When I got the chance I asked them a slew of questions. They offered to burn me; it was the only thing they knew.

I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.

What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?

Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress? Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots? Who hears the regrets of the thieving automobile? Is there anything in the world sadder than a train standing in the rain?

Tonight I can write the saddest lines...Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her.

Hands make the world each day.