There Is Something Pagan In Me That

Absence - That Common Cure Of Love.

It Is Singular How Soon We Lose The Impression Of What Ceases To Be Constantly Before Us. A Year Impairs, A Luster Obliterates. There Is Little Distinct Left Without An Effort Of Memory, Then Indeed The Lights Are Rekindled For A Moment - But Who Can Be Sure That The Imagination Is Not The Torch-bearer?

Grief Should Be The Instructor Of The Wise; Sorrow Is Knowledge.

Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The Geometries That Circumscribe Your Working Life Draw Norrower And Norrower Until Nothing Fits Inside Them Anymore.

Champagne With Its Foaming Whirls/as White As Cleopatra's Pearls.