What We Feel Most Has

We Think The Fire Eats The Wood. We Are Wrong. The Wood Reaches Out To The Flame. The Fire Licks At What The Wood Harbors, And The Wood Gives Itself Away To That Intimacy, The Manner In Which We And The World Meet Each New Day.

I Dream Of Lost Vocabularies That Might Express Some Of What We No Longer Can.

To Hear The Faint Sound Of Oars In The Silence As A Rowboat Comes Slowly Out And Then Goes Back Is Truly Worth All The Years Of Sorrow That Are To Come.

I'm Vain Enough To Think That I've Made A Successful Life. I've Had Everything I've Ever Wanted. You Can't Beat That.

We Are All Burning In Time, But Each Is Consumed At His Own Speed.