You have my whole heart. You always did.
Here beyond men’s judgments all covenants were brittle.
If he is not the word of God, then God never spoke.
What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.
Every day is a lie. But you are dying. That is not a lie.
There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road thereto.
The freedom of birds is an insult to me.
There is no God and we are his prophets.
Each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins.
I dont know what happens to country.
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