The Cat Is A Dilettante In Fur.

When We Love - We Grow

The Purity Of A Person's Heart Can Be Quickly Measured By How They Regard Animals

No One Is Truly Dead Until They Are No Longer Loved.

The Years I Have Squandered In Puerile Excitement, In Going Hither And Thither, In Seeking To Force Nature And Time, I Ought To Have Spent In Solitude And Meditation, In Endeavoring To Make Myself Worthy Of Being Loved.

Those Horses Must Have Been Spanish Jennets, Born Of Mares Mated With A Zephyr; For They Went As Swiftly As The Wind, And The Moon, Which Had Risen At Our Departure To Give Us Light, Rolled Through The Sky Like A Wheel Detached From Its Carriage.