The trick to flying is to throw yourself at the ground and miss. - Douglas Adams
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
A madness most discreet
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
