Man Is A Pupil, Pain Is His

If Love Is A Play, This Play, As Old As The World, Fiasco Or Not, It Is, All In All, The Least Bad Thing That Has So Far Been Found. The Roles Are Trite, I Admit, But If The Play Had No Value The Whole Universe Wouldn’t Know It By Heart

Romanticism Is The Abuse Of Adjectives

Each Memorable Verse Of A True Poet Has Two Or Three Times The Written Content.

The Mouth Keeps Silent To Hear The Heart Speak.

You’re Like A Lighthouse Shining Beside The Sea Of Humanity, Motionless: All You Can See Is Your Own Reflection In The Water. You’re Alone, So You Think It’s A Vast, Magnificent Panorama. You Haven’t Sounded The Depths. You Simply Believe In The Beauty Of God’s Creation. But I Have Spent All This Time In The Water, Diving Deep Into The Howling Ocean Of Life, Deeper Than Anyone. While You Were Admiring The Surface, I Saw The Shipwrecks, The Drowned Bodies, The Monsters Of The Deep