A Flower Without A Stem, Is Beauty

Power Immobilizes; It Freezes With A Single Gesture-grandiose, Terrible, Theatrical, Or Finally, Simply Monotonous-the Variety Which Is Life.

Beyond Happiness Or Unhappiness, Though It Is Both Things, Love Is Intensity; It Does Not Give Us Eternity But Life, That Second In Which The Doors Of Time And Space Open Just A Crack: Here Is There And Now Is Always.

Listen To Me As One Listens To The Rain, The Years Go By, The Moments Return, Do You Hear The Footsteps In The Next Room? Not Here, Not There: You Hear Them In Another Time That Is Now, Listen To The Footsteps Of Time, Inventor Of Places With No Weight, Nowhere, Listen To The Rain Running Over The Terrace, The Night Is Now More Night In The Grove, Lightning Has Nestled Among The Leaves, A Restless Garden Adrift-go In, Your Shadow Covers This Page.

Love Is Not A Desire For Beauty; It Is A Yearning For Completion.

Death Is The Mother Of Forms.