Each Man Is Haunted Until His Humanity

Without Unceasing Practice Nothing Can Be Done. Practice Is Art. If You Leave Off You Are Lost.

Where Any View Of Money Exists, Art Cannot Be Carried On.

When The Voices Of Children Are Heard On The Greenand Laughing Is Heard On The Hill,my Heart Is At Rest Within My Breastand Everything Else Is Still.

For I Dance And Drink And Sing, Till Some Blind Hand Shall Brush My Wing. If Thought Is Life And Strength And Breath And The Want Of Thought Is Death Then Am I A Happy Fly If I Live Or If I Die

Gratitude, In Itself, Is Heaven.