Beauty Is Not Caused. It Is.

To Venerate The Simple Days Which Lead The Seasons By, Needs But To Remember That From You Or I They May Take The Trifle Termed Mortality!

There Is A Pain So Utter, It Swallows Being Up; The Covers The Abyss With A Trance So Memory Can Step Around, Across, Upon It.

They Say That God Is Everywhere, And Yet We Always Think Of Him As Somewhat Of A Recluse.

A Letter Is A Joy Of Earth - It Is Denied The Gods

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.