There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night, and if you go, no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone.

The storyteller makes no choice, soon you will not hear his voice, his job is to shed light, and not to master

Without love in a dream it will never come true

But I would rather be with you, somewhere in San Francisco on a back porch in July, just looking up to Heaven, at this crescent in the sky

There are things you can replace, and others you cannot. The time has come to weigh those things, this space is getting hot.

The sky was yellow and the sun was blue.

In wickedness of pride is lost the light to understand how little grace is earned and how much given.