MedullaPancreas

Life isn't measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.

"He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven"
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.
--W.B. Yeats