“Sigh for me, night-wind, in the noisy leaves of the oak. / I am tired. Sleep for me, heaven over the hill. / Shout for me, loudly and loudly, joyful sun, when you rise.”

“Don't leave me," he whispers. "Oh for crying out loud-no! I am not going to go!" I shout, and it's cathartic. There, I've said it. I am not leaving.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers.“Oh, for crying out loud—no! I am not going to go!” I shout and it’s cathartic. There, I’ve said it. I am not leaving.“Really?” His eyes widen.“What can I do to make you understand I will not run? What can I say?”He gazes at me, revealing his fear and anguish again. He swallows. “There is one thing you can do.”“What?” I snap.“Marry me,” he whispers.”

“The night still confuses me, we'd all get tired and have to sleep eventually. Regardless of the sun's demands. Regardless if it made much sense.”

“If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.”

“I find out a lot about myself by sleeping. Dreams, they are who I am when I’m too tired to be me.”