A Poet Is A Musician Who Can't

After A Certain Point Is Reached The Numbers Cease To Matter, And All That Remains Is The Faceless Mass Of A Crowd.

So Yes. It Had Flaws, But What Does That Matter When It Comes To Matters Of The Heart? We Love What We Love. Reason Does Not Enter Into It. In Many Ways, Unwise Love Is The Truest Love. Anyone Can Love A Thing Because. That's As Easy As Putting A Penny In Your Pocket. But To Love Something Despite. To Know The Flaws And Love Them Too. That Is Rare And Pure And Perfect.

Half Of Seeming Clever Is Keeping Your Mouth Shut At The Right Times.

You Have To Be A Bit Of A Liar To Tell A Story The Right Way.

Each Woman Is Like An Instrument, Waiting To Be Learned, Loved, And Finely Played, To Have At Last Her Own True Music Made.