Time Engraves Our Faces With All The

At First, When An Idea, A Poem, Or The Desire To Write Takes Hold Of You, Work Is A Pleasure, A Delight, And Your Enthusiasm Knows No Bounds. But Later On You Work With Difficulty, Doggedly, Desperately. For Once You Have Committed Yourself To A Particular Work, Inspiration Changes Its Form And Becomes An Obsession, Like A Love-affair… Which Haunts You Night And Day! Once At Grips With A Work, We Must Master It Completely Before We Can Recover Our Idleness.

Time Engraves Our Faces With All The Tears We Have Not Shed.

The Finest Life Is Spent Creating Oneself, Not Procreating.

Might I Be The One I Am Looking For?

Sensuality, Wanting A Religion, Invented Love.