For The Breath Of Life Is In

The Appearance Of Things Changes According To The Emotions; And Thus We See Magic And Beauty In Them, While The Magic And Beauty Are Really In Ourselves.

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

We Stood Up And Bade Each Other Farewell, But Love And Despair Stood Between Us Like Two Ghosts, One Stretching His Wings With His Fingers Over Our Throats, One Weeping And The Other Laughing Hideously. As I Took Selma's Hand And Put It To My Lips, She Came Close To Me And Placed A Kiss On My Forehead, Then Dropped On The Wooden Bench. She Shut Her Eyes And Whispered Softly, "oh, Lord God, Have Mercy On Me And Mend My Broken Wings!

Persecution Cannot Harm Him Who Stands By Truth. Did Not Socrates Fall Proudly A Victim In Body? Was Not Paul Stoned For The Sake Of The Truth? It Is Our Inner Selves That Hurt Us When We Disobey It, And It Kills Us When We Betray It.

Love Is Not Without Its Flaws. The Stronger The Love, The More It Tests You. Compassion And Empathy Will Make True Love Persist.