the intensityin your eyesburns my penas i write.

For it is up to you and meto take solacein nostalgia's armsand our abilityto create the everlastingfrom fleeting moments.

love wounds me with soft pillows with tender lips and fingers

I breathe in...the fragranceof love, and moist sandthe onehis roses lefton both my handsI just keep on breathingevery momentas much as I canpreserving it, in my bodyfor the dayit can’t.

Tell me..how do you stand there?filling the doorway....of my life.

I want to read every book that’s writtenhear every song that was sungI want to gaze at every cloudand hold the zing of each fruit on my tongue.

I realizedJune had never beenjust a monthmusic...never just a trembleon my lipswarmth was nevermerely a blanket.

I breathe in...the silenceof my own heartaching with tendernesswith memories..Of home.

kisses explode when... someone believes in me when my heart cries out a song of thanks to yours.

When I write...I am in the fond armsof a childhood friendupon whose colorful heart I can hang the charcoal drawingsof my woes.

The world is thinningand the earth...it's still spinningmy world is thinningand it’s all because of one person I’m missing.

The goal of Dr. Martin Luther King is to give Negroes a chance to sit in a segregated restaurant beside the same white man who had brutalized them for 400 years.

I suppose if I'd got a brilliant first and done research I might still be a don today, but I hope not. People become dons because they are incapable of doing anything else in life.

I haven't lost my head yet.

In Spain people have lunch and dinner a lot later - when I return to England I'll have to eat alone at midnight.

People hurried past, the others of the street, endless anonymous, twenty-one lives per second, race-walking in their faces and pigments, sprays of fleetest being.

I don't take Twitter too seriously in the physical world.

Happiness is the art of learning how to get joy from your substance.

Government is essentially the negation of liberty.

I do not sleep; I wish to meet my death awake.

Off the packed trail we experience the miracle of corn snow, skiing atop the crust, like skiing on an eggshell that has been sprinkled with sugar.