Whoever Loves Above All The

But Eyes Are Blind. You Have To Look With The Heart.

But Games Always Cover Something Deep And Intense, Else There Would Be No Excitement In Them, No Pleasure, No Power To Stir Us.

You're Beautiful, But You're Empty...one Couldn't Die For You. Of Course, An Ordinary Passerby Would Think My Rose Looked Just Like You. But My Rose, All On Her Own, Is More Important Than All Of You Together, Since She's The One I've Watered. Since She's The One I Put Under Glass, Since She's The One I Sheltered Behind The Screen. Since She's The One For Whom I Killed The Caterpillars (except The Two Or Three Butterflies). Since She's The One I Listened To When She Complained, Or When She Boasted, Or Even Sometimes When She Said Nothing At All. Since She's My Rose.

Sitting In The Flickering Light Of The Candles On This Kerchief Of Sand, On This Village Square, We Waited In The Night. We Were Waiting For The Rescuing Dawn - Or For The Moors. Something, I Know Not What, Lent This Night A Savor Of Christmas. We Told Stories, We Joked, We Sang Songs. In The Air There Was That Slight Fever That Reigns Over A Gaily Prepared Feast. And Yet We Were Infinitely Poor. Wind, Sand, And Stars. The Austerity Of Trappists. But On This Badly Lighted Cloth, A Handful Of Men Who Possessed Nothing In The World But Their Memories Were Sharing Invisible Riches.

Living Is Being Born Slowly. It Would Be A Little Too Easy If We Could Borrow Ready-made Souls.