So The Lover Must Struggle For Words.

You Are The Music While The Music Lasts.

And Now You Live Dispersed On Ribbon Roads, And No Man Knows Or Cares Who Is His Neighbor Unless His Neighbor Makes Too Much Disturbance, But All Dash To And Fro In Motor Cars, Familiar With The Roads And Settled Nowhere.

This Is One Moment, / But Know That Another / Shall Pierce You With A Sudden Painful Joy.

Turn Things You've Always Wanted To Do, Into Things You've Done

Desire Itself Is Movement Not In Itself Desirable; Love Is Itself Unmoving, Only The Cause And End Of Movement, Timeless, And Undesiring Except In The Aspect Of Time Caught In The Form Of Limitation Between Un-being And Being.