O Love, Where Are You Leading Me

I Don’t Think Any Man Writing Can Worry About What The Act Of Writing Costs Him, Even Though At Times He Is Very Aware Of It.

I Will Go To The Garden. I Will Be A Romantic. I Will Sell Myself In Hell, In Heaven Also I Will Be.

The Pattern Of The Narrative Never Of Necessity Wants To End, It Never Has To.

The Lady Has Always Moved To The Next Town And You Stumble On After Her.

For Love - I Would Split Open Your Head And Put A Candle In Behind The Eyes.