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Lonely People Have Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained. When Something Strikes Them As Funny, The Intensity And Length Of Their Laughter Mirrors The Depth Of Their Loneliness, And They Are Capable Of Laughing Like Hyenas. When Something Touches Their Emotions, It Runs Through Them Like Paul Revere, Awakening Feelings That Gather Into Great Armies.

And If You Were A Spirit, And Time Did Not Bind You, And Patience And Love Were All You Knew, Then There You Would Wait For Someone To Return, And The Story To Unfold.

Heavy Blizzards Start As A Gentle And Persistent Snow.

Perhaps Things Are Most Beautiful When They Are Not Quite Real; When You Look Upon A Scene As An Outsider, And Come To Possess It In Its Entirety And Forever; When You Live In The Present With The Lucidity And Feeling Of Memory; When, For Want Of Connection, The World Deepens And Becomes Art.

And Even When I Was Broken The Way Sometimes One Can Be Broken, And Even Though I Had Fallen, I Found Upon Arising That I Was Stronger Than Before, That The Glories, If I May Call Them That, Which I Had Loved So Much And That Had Been Darkened In My Fall, Were Shinning Even Brighter And Nearly Everytime Subsequently I Have Fallen And Darkness Has Come Over Me, They Have Obstinately Arisen, Not As They Were, But Brighter.