And presently I was driving through the drizzle of the dying day, with the windshield wipers in full action but unable to cope with my tears.

I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.

The sun is a thief: she lures the sea and robs it. The moon is a thief: he steals his silvery light from the sun. The sea is a thief: it dissolves the moon.

Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.

Art at its greatest is fantastically deceitful and complex.

For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me.

Dark pictures, thrones, the stones that pilgrims kiss Poems that take a thousand years to die But ape the immortality of this Red label on a little butterfly .