What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?

Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.

You are not satisfied unless form is so strictly divorced from content that you can comprehend the one without almost without bothering to read the other.

Clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality my most

Over, over, there is a soft place in my heart for all that is over, no, for the being over, words have been my only loves, not many.

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.