What kind of incompetence is this, leaving dangerous fiends like us alone to commit mischief?

Life moved, as inconstant and fickle as Wind Baby, frolicking, sleeping, weeping, but never truly still. Never solid or finished. Always like water flowing from one place to the next. Seed and fruit. Rain and drought, everything traveled in a gigantic circle, an eternal process of becoming something new. But we rarely saw it. Humans tended to see only frozen moments, not the flow of things.

When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me.

Your cleavage is like the sun, you can look at it, but it is dangerous to stare

Sometimes you hardly know the difference friends and fiends...

Several people laughing amongst themselves doesn't mean they love themselves..