Night is the sleep of seven wax mothsDawn is the singing of five mermaidsNoon is the scratching of three field miceDusk is the shadow of a crow

These paper boats of mine are meant to dance on the ripples of hours, and not reach any destination.

I have only known two men’s souls in my life, one the devil, the other the the bird’s wings which picked me up and carried me back to the freedom of being.

He thought he was walking along a dusty road that showed white in the gathering darkness of a summer night. Whence and whither it led, and why he traveled it, he did not know, though...

Do you know a better time than the present for igniting your dreams?

As I look out at all of you gathered here, I want to say that I don’t see a room full of Parisians in top hats and diamonds and silk dresses. I don’t see bankers...

Maybe i would become a mermaid… i would live in the swirling blue-green currents, doing exotic underwater dances for the fish, kissed by sea anemones, caressed by seaweed shawls. I would have a doliphin friend....

The times might be unpleasant, repulsive. The ghastly chaos, the abhorrent uncivility might be intolerable, might force us into argument or leave us panic-stricken.On such occasions people build within themselves a conviction, that the world...

…flames moved towards himand dropped within-singed and marred his tender skin …(the frightful plight tale)

I’ve never been a fan of whimsical or confusing storytelling.

In all small things be honest and the big ones will take care of themselves.