In Bringing Up A Child, Think Of

You Arrive At Truth Through Poetry; I Arrive At Poetry Through Truth.

I Do Not Call Reason That Brutal Reason Which Crushes With Its Weight What Is Holy And Sacred, That Malignant Reason Which Delights In The Errors It Succeeds In Discovering, That Unfeeling And Scornful Reason Which Insults Credulity.

Old Age Deprives The Intelligent Man Only Of Qualities Useless To Wisdom.

Reason Is A Bee, And Exists Only On What It Makes; His Usefulness Takes The Place Of Beauty.

Genius Begins Great Works; Labor Alone Finishes Them.