Death is pitch-dark, but colors are light. To be a painter, one must work with rays of light.
Death is pitch-dark, but colors are light. To be a painter, one must work with rays of light.
Your face encompasses the beauty of the whole earth. Your lips, as red as ripening fruit, gently part as if in pain. It is the smile of a corpse. Now the hand of death touches life. The chain is forged that links the thousand families that are dead to the thousand generations to come.
Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.
Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories