The Idea That An Author

The Soul Knows No Greater Anguish Than To Take A Breath That Begins With Love And Ends With Grief.

Children Were Meant To Be Gifts. The Physical Manifestation Of Love Between A Man And A Woman. And For That Love All Manner Of Sacrifice Could Be Borne.

The Stars, They Are As The Sun. Each Star. Every Star. And Those Spheres- They Are Worlds, Realms, Each One Different Yet The Same.

Such Is The Vastness Of His Genius That He Can Outwit Even Himself.

And Over It All, The Butterflies Swarmed, Like A Million Yellow-pettalled Flowers Dancing On Swirling Winds.