Poetry Is The Universal Possession Of Mankind,

Let Him Who Believes In Immortality Enjoy His Happiness In Silence; He Has No Reason To Give Himself Airs About It.

Each Has His Own Happiness In His Hands, As The Artist Handles The Rude Clay He Seeks To Reshape It Into A Figure; Yet It Is The Same With This Art As With All Others: Only The Capacity For It Is Innate; The Art Itself Must Be Learned And Painstakingly Practiced.

If In The Infinite You Want To Stride, Just Walk In The Finite To Every Side.

Life's Objective Is Life Itself.

Age Does Not Make Us Childish, As Some Say; It Finds Us True Children.