Death Eats Up All Things, Both The

When God Sends The Dawn, He Sends It For All.

Love Is Invisible And Comes And Goes Where It Wants, Without Anyone Asking About It.

Get Out Of Harms Way.

It Is One Thing To Write As Poet And Another To Write As A Historian: The Poet Can Recount Or Sing About Things Not As They Were, But As They Should Have Been, And The Historian Must Write About Them Not As They Should Have Been, But As They Were, Without Adding Or Subtracting Anything From The Truth.

There Are Many Hours And Minutes Between Now And Tomorrowand In Any One Of Them-even In A Minute,the House Falls