Be Young Forever, Seasons Of The Earth.

When I Die, I Will See The Lining Of The World. The Other Side, Beyond Bird, Mountain, Sunset.

Every Poet Depends Upon Generations Who Wrote In His Native Tongue; He Inherits Styles And Forms Elaborated By Those Who Lived Before Him. At The Same Time, Though, He Feels That Those Old Means Of Expression Are Not Adequate To His Own Experience.

The Voice Of Passion Is Better Than The Voice Of Reason. The Passionless Cannot Change History.

You Who Think Of Us: They Lived Only In Delusion... Know That We The People Of The Book, Will Never Die!

The Vineyard Country, Russet, Reddish, Carmine-brown In This Season. A Blue Outline Of Hills Above A Fertile Valley. It's Warm As Long As The Sun Does Not Set, In The Shade Cold Returns. A Strong Sauna And Then Swimming In A Pool Surrounded By Trees. Dark Redwoods, Transparent Pale-leved Birches. In Their Delicate Network, A Sliver Of The Moon. I Describe This For I Have Learned To Doubt Philosophy And The Visible World Is All That Remains.