It Is Not My Intention To Explain

In Actuality, We Don't Look For Smiles In Pictures Of Bliss, But Rather, For The Happiness In Life Itself. Painters Know This, But This Is Preciously What They Cannot Depict. That's Why They Substitute The Joy Of Seeing For The Joy Of Life.

When We Lose People We Love, We Should Never Disturb Their Souls, Whether Living Or Dead. Instead. We Should Find Consolation In An Object That Reminds You Of Them, Something...i Don't Know...even An Earring

What Was The Difference Between Love And The Agony Of Waiting? Like Love, The Agony Of Waiting Began In The Muscles And Somewhere Around The Upper Belly But Soon Spread Out To The Chest, The Thighs, And The Forehead, To Invade The Entire Body With Numbing Force.

My Hero Wants To Belong Too, But He Doesn't Want To Give Up All The Things He Came To Value In The West.

I Think A Lot About The Poems I Wasn't Able To Write...i Masturbrated...solitude Is Essentially A Matter Of Pride; You Bury Yourself In Your Own Scent. The Issue Is The Same For All Real Poets. If You've Been Happy For Too Long, You Become Banal. By The Same Token, If You've Been Unhappy For A Long Time, You Lose Your Poetic Power...happiness And Poverty Can Only Coexist For The Briefest Time. Afterword Either Happiness Coarsens The Poet Or The Poem Is So True It Destroys His Happiness.