Love itself describes its own perfection. Be speechless and listen.
What I most want is to spring out of this personality, then to sit apart from that leaping. I've lived too long where I can be reached.
Love opens my chest, and thought returns to its confines.
This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real. Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.
Because I cannot sleep I make music at night.
If you find the mirror of the heart dull, the rust has not been cleared from its face.