Death, Vicious Death, Leave A Green Branch

The Poem, The Song, The Picture, Is Only Water Drawn From The Well Of The People, And It Should Be Given Back To Them In A Cup Of Beauty So That They May Drink - And In Drinking Understand Themselves.

Only Mystery Allows Us To Live, Only Mystery.

A Poet Must Be A Professor Of The Five Senses And Must Open Doors Among Them.

Love Is The Kiss In The Quiet Nest While The Leaves Are Trembling, Mirrored In The Water.

In Our Eyes The Roads Are Endless. Two Are Crossroads Of The Shadow.