Those Who Do Not Weep, Do Not

Hypocrisy Is Nothing, In Fact, But A Horrible Hopefulness.

There Are Souls Which, Crab-like, Crawl Continually Toward Darkness, Going Back In Life Rather Than Advancing In It, Using What Experience They Have To Increase Their Deformity, Growing Worse Without Ceasing, And Becoming Steeped More And More Thoroughly In An Intensifying Wickedness.

A Mother's Arms Are Made Of Tenderness And Children Sleep Soundly In Them.

Love Resembles A Tree: It Bends Under Its Own Weight, Deeply Rooted In Our Being And Sometimes Turns Green In The Ruins Of A Heart.

There Is One Spectacle Grander Than The Sea, That Is The Sky.