Hate Has No Literature: Real Fear And

Sometimes We Love With Nothing More Than Hope. Sometimes We Cry With Everything Except Tears.

I Look Back, Now, And I Know That The Naming Moment, Which Seemed So Insignificant Then, Which Seemed To Demand No More Than An Arbitrary And Superstitious Yes Or No, Was In Fact A Pivotal Moment In My Life.

For This Is What We Do. Put One Foot Forward And Then The Other. Lift Our Eyes To The Snarl And Smile Of The World Once More. Think. Act. Feel. Add Our Little Consequence To The Tides Of Good And Evil That Flood And Drain The World. Drag Our Shadowed Crosses Into The Hope Of Another Night. Push Our Brave Hearts Into The Promise Of A New Day. With Love; The Passionate Search For Truth Other Than Our Own. With Longing; The Pure, Ineffable Yearning To Be Saved. For So Long As Fate Keeps Waiting, We Live On.

Indians Are The Italians Of Asia And Vice Versa. Every Man In Both Countries Is A Singer When He Is Happy, And Every Woman Is A Dancer When She Walks To The Shop At The Corner. For Them, Food Is The Music Inside The Body And Music Is The Food Inside The Heart. Amore Or Pyar Makes Every Man A Poet, A Princess Of Peasant Girl If Only For Second Eyes Of Man And Woman Meets.

The Most Precious Gift You Can Bring To Your Lover Is Your Suffering.