Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe. — Anne Bronte Copy Share Image
“Alone, all alone in the world, sad and small like a nightingale serenading the infinite. How could a love so tender and sweet become the cross of my pain? No, no, I can't conceive I won't receive your precious lips… — Cisneros Sandra Copy Share Image
