Hate Is Love Without Enough

How Is It We’re The Lucky Ones, Living A Life That The Children-we-were Took For Dreams?

Isn't It Strange How Much We Know If Only We Ask Ourselves Instead Of Somebody Else.

A Professional Writer Is An Amateur Who Didn't Quit.

What The Caterpillar Calls The End Of The World The Master Calls A Butterfly.

What A Delighted Fascination It Is, To Stand Aside And Watch Our Dearest Friend Perform On Stage Without Us.