You're beautiful, but you're empty. No one could die for you. - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.

You know...my flower...I'm responsible for her. And she's so weak! And so naive. She has four ridiculous thorns to defend her against the world...

أحسست أنني صرت أبيض تماماً, أملس تماماً من الخوف. خوف لا قرار له لكنه ليس مقيتاً, إدراك جديد يصعب تعريفه