To Live Is To Be Slowly Born.

Here Is My Secret. It Is Very Simple: One Sees Well Only With The Heart. The Essential Is Invisible To The Eyes.

Night, The Beloved. Night, When Words Fade And Things Come Alive. When The Destructive Analysis Of Day Is Done, And All That Is Truly Important Becomes Whole And Sound Again. When Man Reassembles His Fragmentary Self And Grows With The Calm Of A Tree.

I Have No Right, By Anything I Do Or Say, To Demean A Human Being In His Own Eyes. What Matters Is Not What I Think Of Him; It Is What He Thinks Of Himself. To Undermine A Man's Self-respect Is A Sin.

You Know...my Flower...i'm Responsible For Her. And She's So Weak! And So Naive. She Has Four Ridiculous Thorns To Defend Her Against The World.

It Is Such A Secret Place, The Land Of Tears.