And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.

Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.

While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.

Here I came to the very edge where nothing at all needs saying, everything is absorbed through weather and the sea, and the moon swam back, its rays all silvered, and time and again the darkness would be broken by the crash of a wave, and every day on the balcony of the sea, wings open, fire is born, and everything is blue again like morning.

Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.