MotherHushed and sacred silencefills the dawning skyI ponder in this momentof our journey which is nigh…

Heresy is the eternal dawn, the morning star, the glittering herald of the day. Heresy is the last and best thought. It is the perpetual New World, the unknown sea, toward which the brave all...

Cradle of SolitudeFor we know not why our tribulationsare given as suchour fragile formscreated from the dust…

We do not have to see the beginning and the end of our lives, but we must close our eyes and live as if we didn’t start or would never end.

There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.

How complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.

It’s a small world.” . . . “When you put it in a cemetery it is.

In this world, you get what you pay for.

The unity in every second of all time and all wandering mankind, all wandering womankind, all wandering children.

Her body accepted my brutal seed and took it to swell within, just as the patient earth accepts a falling fruit into its tender soil to cradle and nourish it to grow. Came a time,...

Only the dead have seen the end of war.” Perhaps the death of us all is called for in this time of emotional desperation. War is a product of the mind; only with the death...

From the cradle to the grave, joy and pain is the fertilizer for wisdom.

Isn’t it funny.I’m enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that’s something you can use....

how can i everbreathe normally againafter having been cradledby the kind of sorrowso silent, that it nourishesafter having been sweptby the kind of joyso absolute, that it wounds.