Love begets love. This torment is my joy. |
Love is not love until love's vulnerable |
Love is not love until love's vulnerable |
Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley. |
So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition |
The soul has many motions, body one. |
Time marks us while we are marking time. |
What is madness but nobility of soul. At odds with circumstance? |
What shakes the eye but the invisible? Running from God's the longest race of all |
What we need is more people who specialize in the impossible |