And That Heart Which Was A Wild

Whoever Loves Above All The Approach Of Love Will Never Know The Joy Of Attaining It.

The Tender Friendships One Gives Up, On Parting, Leave Their Bite On The Heart, But Also A Curious Feeling Of A Treasure Somewhere Buried.

Nobody Grasped You By The Shoulder While There Was Still Time. Now The Clay Of Which You Were Shaped Has Dried And Hardened, And Naught In You Will Ever Awaken The Sleeping Musician, The Poet, The Asronomer That Possibly Inhabited You In The Beginning.

No Single Event Can Awaken Within Us A Stranger Whose Existence We Had Never Suspected. To Live Is To Be Slowly Born.

Let Your Dream Devour Your Life, Not Your Life Devour Your Dream.