Go My Friend Bestow Your Love Even

This Place Is A Dream. Only A Sleeper Considers It Real. Then Death Comes Like Dawn, And You Wake Up Laughing At What You Thought Was Your Grief.

This Poetry. I Never Know What I'm Going To Say.

This Discipline And Rough Treatment Are A Furnace To Extract The Silver From The Dross. This Testing Purifies The Gold By Boiling The Scum Away.

Silence Is The Language Of God, All Else Is Poor Translation.

One Drop Of That Ocean Is Hope, And The Rest Is Fear.