The world gave me life, my parents eased it, turned it, and I was given roses. These are the flowers on the inside, you can't see them. All you can do is water them with the sonnets of Shakespeare, the play of childhood, the late quartets of Beethoven, the smell of new mown hay. Oh the roses really like to grow. Don't let the calendar deprive you of your rightful rain. Now is a good time to water the soul. It's not so hard. Close your eyes, dream of the white moon, in the midst of clouds, far away from the reach of men.
Planet of the Blind 