So there are no more words and all is ended The timbrel is stilled, the clarion laid away And love with streaming hair goes unattended Back to the loneliness of yesterday

Dear Lord; we beg but one boon more: Peace in the hearts of all men living, peace in the whole world this Thanksgiving.

Who knows what true loneliness is -- not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion.

My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel--it is, before all, to make you see.

We live as we dream--alone....

People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.