All Things Are Only Transitory.

The Summit Charms Us, The Steps To It Do Not; With The Heights Before Our Eyes, We Like To Linger In The Plain. It Is Only A Part Of Art That Can Be Taught; But The Artist Needs The Whole. He Who Is Only Half Instructed Speaks Much And Is Always Wrong; Who Knows It Wholly Is Content With Acting And Speaks Seldom Or Late.

A Correct Answer Is Like An Affectionate Kiss.

Moral Epochs Have Their Course As Well As The Seasons. We Can No More Hold Them Fast Than We Can Hold Sun, Moon, And Stars. Our Faults Perpetually Return Upon Us; And Herein Lies The Subtlest Difficulty Of Self-knowledge.

Colors Are Light's Suffering And Joy

After All, Poets Shouldn't Be Their Own Interpreters And Shouldn't Carefully Dissect Their Poems Into Everyday Prose; That Would Mean The End Of Being Poets. Poets Send Their Creations Into The World, It Is Up To The Reader, The Aesthetician, And The Critic To Determine What They Wanted To Say With Their Creations.