Hate Is Always A Clash

The Only Joy In The World Is To Begin. It Is Good To Be Alive Because Living Is Beginning, Always, Every Moment.

The Face Of The Night Will Be An Old Wound That Reopens Each Evening, Impassive And Living. The Distant Silence Will Ache Like A Soul, Mute, In The Dark. We'll Speak To The Night As It's Whispering Softly.

The Closing Years Of Life Are Like The End Of A Masquerade Party, When The Masks Are Dropped.

Remember, Writing Poetry Is Like Making Love: One Will Never Know Whether One's Own Pleasure Is Shared.

You Don't Remember Days, You Remember Moments.