Between Skin And Skin, There

All Pasts Are Like Poems; One Can Derive A Thousand Things, But Not Live In Them.

One Degrades Oneself Sometimes In The Effort Not To Be Lonely.

They're Beautiful. But Sad.' Everything's Sad If You Make It So, I Said.

Whole Sight; Or All The Rest Is Desolation.

Content Is A Word Unknown To Life; It Is Also A Word Unknown To Man.