Everything One Invents Is True, You May

Love Is A Springtime Plant That Perfumes Everything With Its Hope, Even The Ruins To Which It Clings.

The Author, In His Work, Must Be Like God In The Universe, Present Everywhere And Visible Nowhere.

Our Ignorance Of History Causes Us To Slander Our Own Times.

There Is Not A Particle Of Life Which Does Not Bear Poetry Within It

The Style, Which Is Something I Take To Heart, Is Getting On My Nerves Horribly. It Frustrates And Torments Me. I Have Days When Iam Sick About It And Nights When It Gives Me A Fever. The More I Go At It The More I Find Myself Incapable Of Conveying The Idea.