"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I remember Like a burning And a small reflection
A love If anything It was a love
It burned It soothed Moving slowly And all around me
Your face was that of brilliant colors And vibrant things Laughing like everything in life were a joke And you merely existed to catch the punch lines