We all live for moments.

One moment per week....


Not so much to ask for?


A moment of truth from minute to minute ...

Is too much life...

Yes, you can have too much of life... of feeling ... of loving.

You can die from it.

Ask any suicide corpse.


Also,

" Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise. The inscription at the top of the stairs is a welcome sign at the gates of heaven. Heaven in this case is the Tumbleweed Hotel, the upper floors of the shop, where chances are the vagabonds you meet will be tumbleweeds and wanderers will be angels. Outcast writers with no home to go to can always count on a bed nestled amongst the stacks and the only payment required is to read a book a day. Bookshelves, not walls, form the tiny rooms where troubadours sit and write out dreams so new they're wet and dreams so old they've been had before and lived out by those who dared."



I was there...

I want to go back ...