The Eyes Of My Eyes Are Opened.

Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town (with Up So Floating Many Bells Down) Spring Summer Autumn Winter He Sang His Didn't He Danced His Did.

No Evil Is So Worse Than Worst You Fall In Hate With Love.

Let Must Or If Be Damned With Whomever's Afraid Down With Ought With Because With Every Brain Which Thinks It Thinks, Nor Dares To Feel.

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds, Who Are The Secrets Of Living. Whatever They Sing Is Better Than To Know. And If Men Should Not Hear Them - Then Men Are Old.

Nobody, Not Even The Rain, Has Such Small Hands