All Our Souls Are Written In Our

Take It, And Turn To Facts My Fantasies.

To Joke In The Face Of Danger Is The Supreme Politeness, A Delicate Refusal To Cast Oneself As A Tragic Hero.

Your Neck. I Want To Kiss It.

My Soul, Be Satisfied With Flowers, With Fruit, With Weeds Even; But Gather Them In The One Garden You May Call Your Own.

After All, What Is A Kiss? A Vow Made At Closer Range, A More Precise Promise, A Confession That Contains Its Own Proof, A Seal Placed On A Pact That Has Already Been Signed; It's A Secret Told To The Mouth Rather Than To The Ear.