In the lie of truth lies the truth.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.
God is a cloud from which rain fell.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
There can be no forced inspiration.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams