For Who Expects Nothing, All That Comes

And As Well As I Dream, I Reason If I Want, For That's Just Another Kind Of Dream.

Sadly I Write In My Quiet Room, Alone As I Have Always Been, Alone As I Will Always Be. And I Wonder If My Apparently Negligible Voice Might Not Embody The Essence Of Thousands Of Voices, The Longing For Self Expression Of Thousands Of Lives, The Patience Of Millions Of Souls Resigned Like My Own To Their Daily Lot, Their Useless Dreams, And Their Hopeless Hopes.

Life Is What We Make Of It. Travel Is The Traveler. What We See Isn't What We See But What We Are.

As We Wash Our Body So We Should Wash Destiny, Change Life As We Change Clothes.

I'd Like To Be In The Country So That I'd Could Like Being In The City.