Oh, Love. Love Is Best

I Will Draw You Back To Me. You Shall See. By A Chain Of Stars.

How Massively The Mountains Stand, While Low To The Ground The Sand Blows. The Sand Blows On And On. And Then There Are No Mountains, None At All, The Sand Has Kissed And Whispered Them Away. And Still, The Sand Blows On.

It's Very Selfish When I Write. I'm Not Aware, Ever, Of Writing For Another Person; I'm Not Even Really Aware Of Writing For Myself.

No One More Cynical Than An Idealist.

Dawn Rose From The Desert And Turned The River To Wine.