The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

...if You Do Not Even Understand What Words Say, How Can You Expect To Pass Judgement On What Words Conceal?

Not God With Wine, Nor Death, Nor Hate For A Cry, But God With A Song

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.

We Are Voyagers, Discoverers Of The Not-known, The Unrecorded; We Have No Map; Possibly We Will Reach Haven, Heaven.

The Whole White World Is Ours.