The True Poem Rests Between The Words.

Greed Is The Lack Of Confidence Of One's Own Ability To Create.

If You Were The Sky, I Would Unfurl Myself In You, As A Rainbow Of Colors Yet Unseen. I Would Become Oceans Of Stars In Your Night.

Everything Solid Was First An Idea.

The News Is Disease In Disguise Pretending To Be Information.

Don't Count Your Check-ins Before They Cash.