When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

Imagination doesn't always make you long for what you cannot have, but rather thrive in what you do not have.

I think sometimes when we find love we pretend it away, or ignore it, or tell ourselves we__e imagining it. Because it is the most painful kind of hope there is.

To commit the act of felo-de-se is a form of delusion. You see, my love, to leave one's life unfinished implies the possibility of success. What is left unlived may contain the potential truth one always seeks. Those who kill themselves do so with the conviction that they would have reached that truth eventually had they lived to the proper end. They die in the illusion of hope which in a way keeps the rest of us alive. Reason, therefore, for not committing suicide.

Art is an imagination, crafted over innocent dreams and vibrant integrity.

It is through imagination that we transcend understanding and travel into the world of possibilities.