Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart.
My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.
Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection.
Those who own much have much to fear.
Days are coloured bubbles that float upon the surface of fathomless nights.
The earth paints a portrait of the sun at dawn with sunflowers in bloom. Unhappy with the portrait, she erases it and paints it again and again.