The Three Saddest Things Are The Ill

Such Was A Poet And Shall Be And Is -who'll Solve The Depths Of Horror To Defend A Sunbeam's Architecture With His Life: And Carve Immortal Jungles Of Despair To Hold A Mountain's Heartbeat In His Hand.

I Do Not Know What It Is About You That Closes And Opens;only Something In Me Understands The Voice Of Your Eyes Is Deeper Than All Roses

Unless You Love Someone, Nothing Else Makes Any Sense.

We Can Never Be Born Enough.

O Gouvernment Francais, I Think It Was Not Very Clever Of You To Put This Terrible Doll In La Ferte; For When Governments Are Found Dead There Is Always A Little Doll On Top Of Them, Pulling And Tweaking With His Little Hands To Get Back At The Microscopic Knife Which Sticks Firmly In The Quiet Meat Of Their Hearts.