Everyone is a painting, if not let
self trapped frame.
The past is never lost. He is there but does not know the way home. For that he sends a letter-sometimes to something we do not expect. We call it memories.
Life is the same as oil painting. The mistake can not be erased, but can be fixed.
Love is a bitter picture of being sweet, for the base of all love is moral virtue.
Is there a painter who paints a beautiful painting for the painting itself.
