The Slope Takes You To The Windmill,

It's In An Inland Sea That The River Of My Life Ended.

Stones In The Road? I Save Every Single One, And One Day I'll Build A Castle.

I Never Was But An Isolated Bon Vivant, Which Is Absurd; Or A Mystic Bon Vivant, Which Is An Impossible Thing.

To Live Strikes Me As A Metaphysical Mistake Of Matter, A Dereliction Of Inaction.

It Is Noble To Be Shy, Illustrious Not To Know How To Act, Great Not To Have A Gift For Living.