The Treasures Of The Earth Were Movement,

If It Weren't For Music, I Would Think That Love Is Mortal.

...this Marvelous Graceful Thing, This Joy Of Physics, This Perfect Balance Between Rebellion And Obedience, Is God's Own Signature On Earth.

We Launch Our Souls From The Cannons Of Art And Discipline, And On Any One Night, Hovering Over The Chimney Tops Of Europe, Halfway To The Stars, There Are Armies Of Brightly Spinning Spirits That Have Risen Like Fireworks, Tethered To The Souls Of Those Men And Women Who, By Reflection, Mortification, And Devotion, Effortlessly Outdazzle Kings.

He Knew Very Well That Love Could Be Like The Most Beautiful Singing, That It Could Make Death Inconsequential, That It Existed In Forms So Pure And Strong That It Was Capable Of Reordering The Universe. He Knew This, And That He Lacked It, And Yet As He Stood In The Courtyard Of The Palazzo Venezia, Watching Diplomats File Quietly Out The Gate, He Was Content, For He Suspected That To Command The Profoundest Love Might In The End Be Far Less Beautiful A Thing Than To Suffer Its Absence.

As It Somehow Always Manages Before The Winter Solstice, But Never After, The Early Darkness Was Cheerful And Promising, Even For Those Who Had Nothing.