Literature Is A State Of Culture, Poetry

I Do Not Cut My Life Up Into Days But My Days Into Lives, Each Day, Each Hour, An Entire Life.

Back Of My Forehead I Feel Tonight A Whole Sky Full Of Stars. Under A Western Moon. Life Is Indeed Lovely!

If They Give You Ruled Paper, Write The Other Way.

The Greatest Assassin Of Life Is Haste, The Desire To Reach Things Before The Right Time Which Means Overreaching Them.

I Am Not I. I Am This One Walking Beside Me Whom I Do Not See, Whom At Times I Manage To Visit, And Whom At Other Times I Forget; Who Remains Calm And Silent While I Talk, And Forgives, Gently, When I Hate, Who Walks Where I Am Not, Who Will Remain Standing When I Die.