Even While The Earth Sleeps We Travel.

Your House Shall Be Not An Anchor But A Mast It Shall Not Be A Glistening Film That Covers A Wound, But An Eyelid That Guards The Eye.

Thus With My Lips Have I Denounced You, While My Heart, Bleeding Within Me, Called You Tender Names.

Extreme Torture Is Mute, And So We Sat Silent, Petrified, Like Columns Of Marble Buried Under The Sand Of An Earthquake. Neither Wished To Listen To The Other Because Our Heart-threads Had Become Weak And Even Breathing Would Have Broken Them.

For Life And Death Are One, Even As The River And The Sea Are One.

Beauty Is That Which Attracts Your Soul, And That Which Loves To Give And Not To Receive.