You Can't Teach Talent. You Can't Put

Time's Passage Through The Memory Is Like Molten Glass That Can Be Opaque Or Crystalize At Any Given Moment At Will: A Thousand Days Are Melted Into One Conversation, One Glance, One Hurt, And One Hurt Can Be Shattered And Sprinkled Over A Thousand Days. It Is Silent And Elusive, Refusing To Be Damned And Dripped Out Day By Day; It Swirls Through The Mind While An Entire Lifetime Can Ride Like Foam On The Deceptive, Transparent Waves And Get Sprayed Onto The Conciousness At Ragged, Unexpected Intervals.

Sometimes Being A Friend Means Mastering The Art Of Timing. There Is A Time For Silence. A Time To Let Go... And A Time To Prepare To Pick Up The Pieces When It's All Over.

Old As She Was, She Still Missed Her Daddy Sometimes.

A Star Dies In Heaven Every Time You Snatch Away Someone's Dream.

There's Something Hypocritical About A City That Keeps Half Of Its Population Underground Half Of The Time; You Can Start Believing That There's Much More Space Than There Really Is-to Live, To Work.