"I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;/
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...“ W.B. Yeats.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
''We are all a volume on a shelf of a library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page upon lying page, behind simple covers. And love – it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together.''