From Life, From The Apple Cut By

All Was Taken Away From You: White Dresses, Wings, Even Existence. Yet I Believe You, Messengers. There, Where The World Is Turned Inside Out, A Heavy Fabric Embroidered With Stars And Beasts, You Stroll, Inspecting The Trustworthy Seams.

Learning To Believe You Are Magnificent. And Gradually To Discover That You Are Not Magnificent. Enough Labor For One Human Life.

I've Always Regretted That I'm Made Of Contradictions. But, If Contradiction Is Impossible To Overcome, We Have To Accept Both Its Ends.

The History Of My Stupidity Would Fill Many Volumes.

He Returns Years Later, Has No Demands. He Wants Only One, Most Precious Thing: To See, Purely And Simply, Without Name, Without Expectations, Fears, Or Hopes, At The Edge Where There Is No I Or Not-i.