It Is Not The Visions But The

You Must Not Think That I Feel, In Spite Of It Having Ended In Such Defeat, That My "life Has Been Wasted" Here, Or That I Would Exchange It With That Of Anyone I Know.

"do You Know A Cure For Me?" Why Yes," He Said, "i Know A Cure For Everything. Salt Water." Salt Water?" I Asked Him. Yes," He Said, "in One Way Or The Other. Sweat, Or Tears, Or The Salt Sea".

To Me, The Explanation Of Life Seems To Be Its Melody, Its Pattern. And I Feel In Life Such An Infinite, Truly Inconceivable Fantasy.

To Be A Person Is To Have A Story To Tell.

There Are Times Of Great Beauty On A Coffee Farm. When The Plantation Flowered In The Beginning Of The Rains, It Was A Radiant Sight, Like A Cloud Of Chalk, In The Mist Of The Drizzling Rain.