A Hundred Men Together Are The Hundredth

My Father, When He Went, Made My Childhood A Gift Of A Half A Century.

I Keep My Hands Empty For The Sake Of What I Have Had In Them.

Yes, One Must Suffer, Even In Vain, So As Not To Have Lived In Vain.

Those Who Gave Away Their Wings Are Sad Not To See Them Fly.

Night Is A World Lit By Itself.