My, How Beautiful Is War! Its Songs,

People Quickly Grow Accustomed To Being The Slaves Of Mystery.

Without Poets, Without Artists... Everything Would Fall Apart Into Chaos. There Would Be No More Seasons, No More Civilizations, No More Thought, No More Humanity, No More Life Even; And Impotent Darkness Would Reign Forever. Poets And Artists Together Determine The Features Of Their Age, And The Future Meekly Conforms To Their Edit.

Geometry Is To The Plastic Arts What Grammar Is To The Art Of The Writer.

In This Mirror, I Am Enclosed A Live And Real As You. Imagine Angels And Not Like The Reflections.

Vienne La Nuit Sonne L'heure Les Jours S'en Vont Je Demeure