The artist is the confidant of nature$$$ flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms. Every flower has a cordial word which nature directs towards him.

Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying$$$<br>An intolerable waiting$$$<br>A longing for another place and time$$$<br>Another condition.

I lose and find myself in the long water. I am gathered together once more.

Any pattern of emotion or behavior that is continually reinforced will become an automatic and conditioned response. Anything we fail to reinforce will eventually dissipate.

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

I is another.

In the morning I had a look so lost$$$ a face so dead$$$ that perhaps those whom I met did not see me.

I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

O seasons$$$ O castles$$$ What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me$$$ Felicity$$$ it enchants us all.