The Journey Itself Is My Home.

O Cricket From Your Cherry Cry No One Would Ever Guess How Quickly You Must Die.

The Moon Is Brighter Since The Barn Burned.

No Matter Where Your Interest Lies, You Will Not Be Able To Accomplish Anything Unless You Bring Your Deepest Devotion To It.

A Weathered Skeleton In Windy Fields Of Memory, Piercing Like A Knife.

This Autumn- Why Am I Growing Old? Bird Disappearing Among Clouds.