The Truth Never Flaunted A Sign.

A Courteous, Yet Harrowing Grace, As Guest, That Would Be Gone

I Think Of Love, And You, And My Heart Grows Full And Warm, And My Breath Stands Still... I Can Feel A Sunshine Stealing Into My Soul And Making It All Summer, And Every Thorn, A Rose.

Portraits Are To Daily Faces As An Evening West To A Fine, Pedantic Sunshine In A Satin Vest.

A Word Is Dead When It Is Said, Some Say. I Say It Just Begins To Live That Day.

The Career Of Flowers Differs From Ours Only Inaudibleness.