Life Is Beautiful. He Who

And Just As There Are No Words For The Surface, That Is, No Words To Say What It Really Is, That It Is Not Superficial But A Visible Core, Then There Is No Way Out Of The Problem Of Pathos Vs. Experience.

Death Is A New Office Building Filled With Modern Furniture, A Wise Thing, But Which Has No Purpose For Us.

The Sun Fades Like The Spreading Of A Peacock's Tail, As Though Twilight Might Be Read As A Warning To Those Desperate For Easy Solutions.

Once A Happy Old Man One Can Never Change The Core Of Things, And Light Burns You The Harder For It.

How Many People Came And Stayed A Certain Time, Uttered Light Or Dark Speech That Became Part Of You Like Light Behind Windblown Fog And Sand Filtered And Influenced By It, Until No Part Remains That Is Surely You.