The Dance/ Sonnet XVII I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz or an arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as certain dark, secret things are loved...
Philosophy prepares the soul to recognize the eternal in the transitory.
Plato
I will find a way... or I will open one for myself.
Napoleon Bonaparte
Youth passes and twilight spreads across your smile. / The exiled life of your dream is a dark journey.
Mo Yun-Suk
For every man who makes an idiot of a woman, there is a woman to make an idiot a man.
Unknown
We fail to translate exactly what we feel in our soul: thought still cannot measure itself with language.
Henri Bergson