Gratitude Is Heaven Itself.

In The Universe, There Are Things That Are Known, And Things That Are Unknown, And In Between, There Are Doors.

Embraces Are Comminglings From The Head Even To The Feet, And Not A Pompous High Priest Entering By A Secret Place.

Desperate Remorse Swallows The Present In A Quenchless Rage.

If The Sun And Moon Should Ever Doubt, They'd Immediately Go Out.

O Winter! Bar Thine Adamantine Doors: The North Is Thine; There Hast Thou Build Thy Dark, Deep-founded Habitation. Shake Not Thy Roofs, Nor Bend Thy Pillars With Thine Iron Car.