“A man who has committed a mistake and doesn’t correct it, is committing another mistake.”
Still I would want to be someone who’d answer to me:
Someone who sees like a child, gives like a saint,
feels like an angel — never mind the broken wings,
and speaks like a picture, cries like the rain, shines like a star,
as long as the fire remains.
the ordering of objects couldn’t hide what’s missing.
... love is not these belongings that surround you,
though there’s meaning in the memories they hold.
Excuse me, are you lost? Perhaps you would care to visit the site map