If You Knew All The Dreams I've

Speech Is A Rolling Press That Always Amplifies One's Emotions.

After A Person Dies, There Is Always Something Like A Feeling Of Stupefaction, So Difficult Is It To Comprehend This Unexpected Advent Of Nothingness And To Resign Oneself To Believing It.

I Believe That If One Always Looked At The Skies, One Would End Up With Wings.

The Style, Which Is Something I Take To Heart, Is Getting On My Nerves Horribly. It Frustrates And Torments Me. I Have Days When Iam Sick About It And Nights When It Gives Me A Fever. The More I Go At It The More I Find Myself Incapable Of Conveying The Idea.

Prose Is Like Hair; It Shines With Combing.