because...

"And now that you don't have to be perfect,  you can be good." -- John Steinbeck

"To a bird's song I listen,  not for the voice, but for the silence following after the song.”  — Noguchi Yonejiro

To keep our eyes wide open -- but to wire our hearts well shut. How is it possible not to let such wonders paint our hearts in rainbow colours?  How to hold ourselves outside the world while we're in it? `ice´

John C. Maxwell

Harriet Braiker

Swedish Proverb

-- Edgar Allan Poe

" Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard. " -- Anne SEXTON

`ice´

Writers live in a fairly romanticised world. Such feelings; drops of water being part of something greater. Such intensity and density. Feelings that are almost always overwhelming, like drops of water on the run. Writers let them be overwhelming. Let them escape. Their paper gets wet with them. Such drops; be it tear or blood. Writers simply tell the world about their own.

Hemingway...as usual.