Our Crime Against Criminals Lies In The

There They Laugh: They Do Not Understand Me; I Am Not The Mouth For These Ears.

When One Has Not Had A Good Father, One Must Create One.

The Poet Presents His Thoughts Festively, On The Carriage Of Rhythm: Usually Because They Could Not Walk.

We Believe That We Know Something About The Things Themselves When We Speak Of Trees, Colors, Snow, And Flowers; And Yet We Possess Nothing But Metaphors For Things - Metaphors Which Correspond In No Way To The Original Entities.

You Know A Moment Is Important When It Is Making Your Mind Go Numb With Beauty.