The Artist In Me Cries Out For

Ah, When To The Heart Of Man Was It Ever Less Than A Treason To Go With The Drift Of Things, To Yield With A Grace To Reason, And Bow And Accept The End Of A Love Or A Season?

Suddenly, Quietly, You Realize That - From This Moment Forth - You Will No Longer Walk Through This Life Alone. Like A New Sun This Awareness Arises Within You, Freeing You From Fear, Opening Your Life. It Is The Beginning Of Love, And The End Of All That Came Before.

There Never Was Any Heart Truly Great And Generous, That Was Not Also Tender And Compassionate.

If We Couldn't Laugh We Would All Go Insane.

The Ear Is The Only True Writer And The Only True Reader. I Know People Who Read Without Hearing The Sentence Sounds And They Were The Fastest Readers. Eye Readers We Call Them. They Get The Meaning By Glances. But They Are Bad Readers Because They Miss The Best Part Of What A Good Writer Puts Into His Work.