"In this divine glass, they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure. This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal."
~William Penn, More Fruits of Solitude.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Wasting Form
On stage, on screen, in lyric, stroke, step, You were the pulse of my veins, the catch of my breath. I wasted Meisner for you and the stage But only the stage remembers.
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