A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and cries escape, they sound like beautiful music.
| Kierkegaard
Total Pageviews
Friday, March 2, 2012
I AM NOT ALRIGHT, IF ONLY I CAN HOLD YOUR HAND, IF ONLY YOU CAN PLACE YOUR PALM ON MY FOREHEAD AND I WILL BE FINE.
No comments:
Post a Comment