Truth Is No Rounder Than

They're Not Just Dreams. Not Anymore, I Dream More Than I Wake Now, And, At Times, I Have Crossed Over. Can't You See? I've Been There.

Perhaps He Was A Fool, But He Thought That If A Work Were Truly Great You Would Only Have To Read It Once And You Would Be Stolen From Yourself, Desperately Moved, Changed Forever.

When You Die, You Know, You Hear The Insistent Pounding That Defines All Things, Whether Of Matter Or Energy, Since There Is Nothing In The Universe, Really, But Proportion.

He Moved Like A Dancer, Which Is Not Surprising; A Horse Is A Beautiful Animal, But It Is Perhaps Most Remarkable Because It Moves As If It Always Hears Music.

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.