The most devout long to breathe the dirt’s scent once more.
The cat runs faster at night; he sees you better.
Only the ordinary is reprehensible, but praise disgusts the just.
Wine is not drunk enough.
Be bitter but only about the Truth.
With a friend, poison is sweet; sweetness, with an enemy, poisons.
The colder things are, the slower, unless they are flowers.
You will never know the river wets your hair.
What is sweetness, that bees do not remember honey?
Work is wings.
more from Theodore Worozbyt at Poetry Magazine here.