I Will Think Of You Every Time

If You Aren't The Woman I Think You Are, Then This Isn't The World I Thought It Was.

And Then I Became Aware Of All The Magnificent Silk Wrapped Around My Body, And Had The Feeling I Might Drown In Beauty. At That Moment, Beauty Itself Struck Me As A Kind Of Painful Melancholy.

Autobiography, If There Really Is Such A Thing, Is Like Asking A Rabbit To Tell Us What He Looks Like Hopping Through The Grasses Of The Field. How Would He Know? If We Want To Hear About The Field On The Other Hand, No One Is In A Better Circumstance To Tell Us-so Long As We Keep In Mind That We Are Missing All Those Things The Rabbit Was In No Position To Observe.

A Woman Who Acts Like A Fool Is A Fool.

At The Temple There Is A Poem Called "loss" Carved Into The Stone. It Has Three Words, But The Poet Has Scratched Them Out. You Cannot Read Loss, Only Feel It.