Human Love Is Often But The Encounter

We Are, All Of Us, Molded And Remolded By Those Who Have Loved Us, And Though That Love May Pass, We Remain None The Less Their Work--a Work That Very Likely They Do Not Recognize, And Which Is Never Exactly What They Intended.

A Good Critic Is The Sorcerer Who Makes Some Hidden Spring Gush Forth Unexpectedly Under Our Feet.

The Arrogance Of Poets Is Only A Defense; Doubt Gnaws The Greatest Among Them; They Need Our Testimony To Escape Despair.

If The Flame Inside You Goes Out, The Souls That Are Next To You Will Die Of Cold.

Doubt Is Nothing But A Trivial Agitation On The Surface Of The Soul, While Deep Down There Is A Calm Certainty.