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... love whose any mystery makes every man's flesh put space on;and his mind take off time that you should ever think,may god forbid and (in his mercy) your true lover spare: for that way knowledge lies,the foetal grave called progress,and negation's dead undoom. I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance -e.e. cummings.
http://rave-0n.livejournal.com/8343.html
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Published: 1 year, 3 months ago (Tue, 15 Apr 2008 16:00:11 PDT); 895 bytes
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