A Friendship That Like Love Is Warm;

Here Bring Your Wounded Hearts, Here Tell Your Anguish; Earth Has No Sorrow That Heaven Cannot Heal.

Come O'er The Sea, Maiden With Me, Mine Through The Sunshine, Storms And Snows; Seasons May Roll, But The True Soul Burns The Same, Where'er It Goes.

A Genuine Odyssey Is Not About Piling Up Experiences. It Is A Deeply Felt, Risky, Unpredictable Tour Of The Soul.

When We Relate To Our Bodies As Having Soul, We Attend To Their Beauty, Their Poetry And Their Expressiveness. Our Very Habit Of Treating The Body As A Machine, Whose Muscles Are Like Pulleys And Its Organs Engines, Forces Its Poetry Underground, So That We Experience The Body As An Instrument And See Its Poetics Only In Illness.

Go Where We May, Rest Where We Will, Eternal London Haunts Us Still.