In Every Winter's Heart There

Passionate Love Is A Quenchless Thirst.

O Love, Whose Lordly Hand Has Bridled My Desires, And Raised My Hunger And My Thirst To Dignity And Pride, Let Not The Strong In Me And The Constant Eat The Bread Or Drink The Wine That Tempt My Weaker Self. Let Me Rather Starve, And Let My Heart Parch With Thirst, And Let Me Die And Perish, Ere I Stretch My Hand To A Cup You Did Not Fill, Or A Bowl You Did Not Bless.

Where Can I Find A Man Governed By Reason Instead Of Habits And Urges?

We Live Only To Discover Beauty. All Else Is A Form Of Waiting

Our Pain Carves Out A Larger Space For Love To Fill.