Photo by: Gregory Colbert

Never an illness, nor the absence of grandeur, no, nothing is able to kill the best in us, that kindness we are afflicted with: Beautiful is the flower of man;
his conduct, and every door opens on the beautiful truth and never hides treacherous whispers. I always gained something from making myself better, better than I am, better than I was, that most subtle citation: to recover some lost petal of sadness I inherited: to search once more for the light that sings inside of me, that unwavering light.
Pablo Neruda