The Sun Comes Back Every Day With

Daylight, Full Of Small Dancing Particles And The One Great Turning, Our Souls Are Dancing With You, Without Feet, They Dance. Can You See Them When I Whisper In Your Ear? All Day And Night, Music, A Quiet, Bright Reedsong. If It Fades, We Fade.

Poetry Can Be Dangerous, Especially Beautiful Poetry, Because It Gives The Illusion Of Having Had The Experience Without Actually Going Through It.

We Must Die To Become True Human Beings.

Inside The Great Mystery That Is, We Don't Really Own Anything. What Is This Competition We Feel Then, Before We Go, One At A Time, Through The Same Gate?

Love Is The Treasure The Temple Of Love Is Not Love Itself; True Love Is The Treasure, Not The Walls About It. Do Not Admire The Decoration, But Involve Yourself In The Essence, The Perfume That Invades And Touches You- The Beginning And The End. Discovered, This Replaces All Else, The Apparent And The Unknowable. Time And Space Are Slaves To This Presence.