Nobody knew the Iron Man had fallen. Night passed.

What’s writing really about? It’s about trying to take fuller possession of the reality of your life.

The sea cries with its meaningless voice, Treating alike its dead and its living

I shall also take you forth and carve our names together in a yew tree, haloed with stars.

Prose, narratives, etcetera, can carry healing. Poetry does it more intensely.

The real mystery is this strange need. Why can't we just hide it and shut up? Why do we have to blab? Why do human beings need to confess?

You are who you choose to be.

where are the gods the gods hate us the gods have run away the gods have hidden in holes the gods are dead of the plague they rot and stink too there never were any gods there’s only death

The dreamer in her Had fallen in love with me and she did not know it. That moment the dreamer in me Fell in love with her and I knew it

The deeps are cold: In that darkness camaraderie does not hold: Nothing touches but, clutching, devours.

The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed, And my head, worn out with love, at rest In my hands, and my hands full of dust.

Live, Princess, for me. I love You

Everything started as nothing.

Success, instead of giving freedom ofchoice, becomes a way of life.

Wisdom accepts that all things have two sides

Doing fashion drawings was the only way I had to express myself when I was a teenager.

Sometimes we have to wait a long time to see conversions.

The future belongs to God, and it is only he who reveals it, under extraordinary circumstances.

It is not a God, just and good, but a devil, under the name of God, that the Bible describes.

A cheerful demeanor makes brighter the day; as the sun, chasing darkness and sorrow away.

However roguish a man may be, he always loves to deal with an honest man.