... And The Very Folds Of The

Will You Come Down And Kiss Me Good Night?

Idealism Is The Death Of The Body And The Imagination. All But Freedom, Utter Freedom, Is Death

Love Never Dies A Natural Death. It Dies Because We Don't Know How To Replenish Its Source. It Dies Of Blindness And Errors And Betrayals. It Dies Of Illness And Wounds; It Dies Of Weariness, Of Witherings, Of Tarnishings.

Solitude May Rust Your Words.

The Earth Is Heavy And Opaque Without Dreams.