The Train Came Out Of The Long

Put Your Soul In The Palm Of My Hand For Me To Look At, Like A Crystal Jewel. I'll Sketch It In Words.

Our Language Is Primarily For Expressing Human Goodness And Beauty.

A Child Walked By, Rolling A Metal Hoop That Made A Sound Of Autumn.

Seeing The Moon, He Becomes The Moon, The Moon Seen By Him Becomes Him. He Sinks Into Nature, Becomes One With Nature. The Light Of The "clear Heart" Of The Priest, Seated In The Meditation Hall In The Darkness Before The Dawn, Becomes For The Dawn Moon Its Own Light.

I Wonder What The Retirement Age Is In The Novel Business. The Day You Die.