We Are Not Born To Survive. Only

From What We Cannot Hold The Stars Are Made.

We Are Asleep With Compasses In Our Hands.

I Had Hardly Begun To Read I Asked How Can You Ever Be Sure That What You Write Is Really Any Good At All And He Said You Can't You Can't You Can Never Be Sure You Die Without Knowing Whether Anything You Wrote Was Any Good If You Have To Be Sure Don't Write

I Offer You What I Have My Poverty

Through All Of Youth I Was Looking For You Without Knowing What I Was Looking For Part Memory Part Distance Remaining Mine In The Ways That I Learn To Miss You From What We Cannot Hold The Stars Are Made.