The night is not so sinister or longeach trial of the soul will not seem slightupon arrival of the morning lightwhen even the hardest labors seem less strong.-- Nightmare

The breath of Paris pushes at my shutters.From the Balcony

I have heard queens' swans, moved a man to cry,heard Bach played in the Metro on guitars.I have made love in Paris. Let me die.

...no craft on earth is master to despair.Imagining You'd Come to Say Goodbye