Hell Is Not In Torture; Hell Is

You Cannot Judge Any Man Beyond Your Knowledge Of Him, And How Small Is Your Knowledge.

Sorrow Is Too Great To Exist In Small Hearts.

Everyone Has Experienced That Truth: That Love, Like A Running Brook, Is Disregarded, Taken For Granted; But When The Brook Freezes Over, Then People Begin To Remember How It Was When It Ran, And They Want It To Run Again.

I Purified My Lips With Sacred Fire That I Might Speak Of Love, But When I Opened My Mouth To Speak, I Found Myself Mute.

The "i" In Me, My Friend, Dwells In The House Of Silence, And Therein It Shall Remain For Ever More, Unperceived, Unapproachable.