The Lovesick, The Betrayed, And The Jealous

By An Image We Hold On To Our Lost Treasures, But It Is The Wrenching Loss That Forms The Image, Composes, Binds The Bouquet.

I Did Not Look For Her, Because I Was Afraid Of Dispelling The Mystery We Attach To People Whom We Know Only Casually.

There Are Connoisseurs Of Blue Just As There Are Connoisseurs Of Wine.

If We Want To Be Sincere, We Must Admit That There Is A Well-nourished Love And An Ill-nourished Love. And The Rest Is Literature.

You Do Not Notice Changes In What Is Always Before You.