Solitude May Rust Your Words.

Destruction Is Ultimately Self-destruction.

I Sat There For Three Hours And Did Not Feel The Time Or The Boredom Of Our Talk And Its Foolish Disconnection. As Long As I Could Hear His Voice, I Was Quite Lost, Quite Blind, Quite Outside My Own Self.

To Love And To Labor Is The Sum Of Living.

Things Aren't The Way They Are, They're The Way You Are

Where The Myth Fails, Human Love Begins. Then We Love A Human Being, Not Our Dream, But A Human Being With Flaws.