I do tend to move on anyway. This is a part of my life, but it doesn't rule my life.
I sorrow that all fair things must decay.
Strike-for your altars and your fires; Strike-for the green graves of your sires; God-and your native land!
They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty. - Fitz
There is an evening twilight of the heart, When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest.
Ere the dolphin dies Its hues are brightest. Like an infant's breath Are tropic winds before the voice of death.
The wild-flower wreath of feeling, the sunbeam of the heart.
The sentences I write have their roots in song and poetry, and take their bearings from music and painting, as much as from the need to impart mere information, or mirror anything. I am not a realist writer, even if I seem like one.
A brave man is sometimes a desperado: a bully is always a coward.
When a majority of my prayers are for others to change, I've gotten off track. Lord, change this sinner's heart.
I put out a lot of different kinds of material, and maybe people read that as egotistical. Or maybe, since a lot of it does involve some aspect of me, they find it self-aggrandizing. But there’s a long tradition of artists using themselves. Look, I know I’m not perfect. And, who knows, maybe a part of it has to do with self-obsession. But it’s also about using this weird thing that is a public persona as raw material for creative projects.