“Sleeping WrestlerYou are a murdererNo you are not, but really a wrestlerEither way it's just the sameFor from the ring of your entangled bodyClean as leather, lustful as a lilyWill nail me downOn your stout neck like a column, like a pillar of tendonsThe thoughtful forehead(In fact, it's thinking nothing)When the forehead slowly moves and closes the heavy eyelidsInside, a dark forest awakensA forest of red parrotsSeven almonds and grape leavesAt the end of the forest a vineCovers the house where two boysLie in each others arms: I'm one of them, you the otherIn the house, melancholy and terrible anxietyOutside the keyhole, a sunsetDyed with the blood of the beautiful bullfighter EscamilloScorched by the sunset, headlong, headfirstFalling, falling, a gymnastIf you're going to open your eyes, nows the time, wrestler”

“Lik the tree falling in the forest," says Ira."Huh?""You know, the old question - if a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, does it really make a sound?" Howie considers this. "Is it a pine forest, or oak?""What's the difference?""Oak is a much denser wood; it's more likely to be heard by someone on the freeway next to the forest where no one is.”

“Would that I could gather your houses into my hand, and like a sower scatter them in forest and meadow.”

“Sometimes you lose your way; you walk in the twilight of a forest; and suddenly you see an old but a beautiful house. And that old mossy house is a good quotation! It is old because it has wisdom; it is beautiful because it gives you a hope!”

“Sometimes it’s like people are a million times more beautiful to you in your mind. It’s like you see them through a special lens — but maybe if it’s how you see them,that’s how they really are. It’s like the whole tree falling in the forest thing.”

“It's your fault, Eeyore. You've never been to see any of us. You just stay here in this one corner of the Forest waiting for the others to come to you. Why don't you go to THEM sometimes?”