Beauty Makes One Lose One's Head. Poetry

A Little Too Much Is Just Enough For Me.

We Are In A Period Of Such Individualism That One No Longer Speaks Of Disciples; One Speaks Of Thieves.

Be A Constant Outrage To Modesty There Is Nothing To Fear: Modesty Is Exercised Only Among The Blind.

The Joy Of The Young Is To Disobey

Since The Day Of My Birth, My Death Began Its Walk. It Is Walking Toward Me, Without Hurrying.