Suppose Life Is An Old Man Carrying

What Time Is It? It Is By Every Star A Different Time, And Each Most Falsely True.

Our Can'ts Were Born To Happen Our Mosts Have Died In More

Miracles Are To Come. With You I Leave A Remembrance Of Miracles: They Are By Somebody Who Can Love And Who Shall Be Continually Reborn, A Human Being.

The Artist Is No Other Than He Who Unlearns What He Has Learned, In Order To Know Himself.

All Nothing's Only Our Hugest Home; The Most Who Die, The More We Live