Who Said This?

Three Riddles of Identity I When a heart breaks, the crack runs down the middle, and the two halves collapse, falling in opposite directions. The left side mourns lost opportunity: it is a dull throbbing pain, as if the heart were still beating in tandem with another it cannot grasp. The right side remains inert, never again to be aroused, the crowded pages of desire forever closed. II It happened the way mistakes happen: when I wasn't paying attention, was distracted from the moment of being, that's when the beauty of this day revealed itself as a hidden cornucopia, and poured flowers and fruits over my body, sweet flowers and gorgeous fruits poured their fragrance over me, enveloped me in wonder upon wonder. And birds shifted their flight paths and descended. III Was their a time, kinder than our age, when my crimes could be forgiven, even forgotten? I can readily fulfill the terms of my restored status. I attend a ceremony of recollection, geared toward remorse, an emotion I can readily adopt. Afterwards, a gathering of colleagues in a private celebration, with tiny cakes and champagne, perhaps a string quartet playing Mozart.