It's Lovely. I Hate It.

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Get The Blame For Being What It Is-- The Colour Of A Kiss, The Shadow Of A Flame. A Rose May Earn Another Name, So Call It Love; So Call It Love I Will, And Love Is Like The Sea, Which Changes Constantly, And Yet Is Still The Same.

Dawn Rose From The Desert And Turned The River To Wine.

We All Have Our Dreams. May We Find Them, And God Have Mercy On Us When We Do.

Condemned And Executioner With Aren't Coupled In A Primitive Rite.

It Was Not Apathy. It Was An Intelligent Disinterest In Those Things That Could Have No Bearing On One's Existence.