All great things are done for their own sake.
Butterflies...flowers that fly and all but sing.
The middle of the road is where the white line is - and that's the worst place to drive.
Unless I'm wrong I but obey The urge of a song: I'm-bound-away! And I may return If dissatisfied With what I learn From having died.
When work becomes play, and play becomes your work, your life unfolds.
In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.