Something doesn't start at its usual time. Something doesn't happen as it should. Someone was always, always here, then suddenly disappeared and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Dying - you can't do that to a cat.

Memory at last has what I sought.

Any knowledge that doesn't lead to new questions quickly dies out: it fails to maintain the temperature required for sustaining life.

No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.

No day copies yesterday, no two nights will teach what bliss is in precisely the same way, with precisely the same kisses.

I'm fighting against the bad poet who is prone to using too many words.