Avicenna California...museum Of My Twisted Youth, Vault

No," He Repeated, And This Time The Word Tolled In Another Voice, A King's Voice... Whose Grief Was Not For What He Did Not Have, But For What He Could Not Give.

What Is Plucked Will Grow Again, What Is Slain Lives On, What Is Stolen Will Remain-- What Is Gone Is Gone.

If A Man Loved Me, I Would Have Talked Myself Into Loving Him, And I Would Have Loved Him Very Deeply After A While.

They Know These Mornings Well And Love Them Desperately Because They Cannot Last - These People Who Know That Nothing Lasts.

I Fear It, For Her Sake. It Would Mean That She Too Is A Wanderer Now, And That Is A Fate For Human Beings, Not For Unicorns. But I Hope, Of Course I Hope.