I Have Wished A Bird

Our Life Runs Down In Sending Up The Clock. The Brook Runs Down In Sending Up Our Life. The Sun Runs Down In Sending Up The Brook. And There Is Something Sending Up The Sun. It Is This Backward Motion Toward The Source, Against The Stream, That Most We See Ourselves In, The Tribute Of The Current To The Source. It Is From This In Nature We Are From. It Is Most Us.

Friends Make Pretence Of Following To The Grave But Before One Is In It, Their Minds Are Turned And Making The Best Of Their Way Back To Life And Living People And Things They Understand.

You're Searching... For Things That Don't Exist; I Mean Beginnings. Ends And Beginnings - There Are No Such Things. There Are Only Middles.

A Definite Purpose, Like Blinders On A Horse, Inevitably Narrows Its Possessor's Point Of View.

There Never Was Any Heart Truly Great And Generous, That Was Not Also Tender And Compassionate.