I Am Working Out The Vocabulary Of

Not All Things Are Blest, But The Seeds Of All Things Are Blest.

The World Is Made Up Of Stories, Not Atoms.

The Fear Of Poetry Is An Indication That We Are Cut Off From Our Own Reality.

We Sit Here, Very Different Each From The Other, Until The Passion Arrives To Give Us Our Equality, To Make Us Part Of The Play, To Make The Play Part Of Us.

The World Is Not Made Of Molecules, The World Is Made Of Stories.