... There Are Shadows Because There Are

One Is Certain Of Nothing But The Truth Of One's Own Emotions.

The Sun Was Already Declining And Each Of The Trees Held A Premonition Of Night.

It Isn't Possible To Love And Part. You Will Wish That It Was. You Can Transmute Love, Ignore It, Muddle It, But You Can Never Pull It Out Of You. I Know By Experience That The Poets Are Right: Love Is Eternal.

The Sadness Of The Incomplete, The Sadness That Is Often Life, But Should Never Be Art.

Pathos, Piety, Courage, They Exist, But Are Identical, And So Is Filth. Everything Exists, Nothing Has Value.