The heart – a living clock that houses loved souls in nameless cities.

The distance between two souls-one is infinity, outside.

Poetry: souls. In their whisper, the burning of infinity...

The solitude of our human souls is howled at the stars night after night by dogs.

There are thresholds that you cannot step over, as if beyond lie the ghosts of those passed, as if the thresholds grow with every intention of a step, as if the soul itself becomes a threshold, preventing you from hurting, from being hurt again.

The composer, like the painter, like the poet, like the bird, like the wind, like the flower, like the tiny insect, like the deer, like the wolf, like the water, picks chords from the soul of infinity and makes them vibrate through his own soul