Speak But One Word To Me.

It Is The Childlike Part Of Us That Produces Works Of The Imagination. When We Were Children Time Passed So Slow With Us That We Seemed To Have Time For Everything.

If A Chap Can't Compose An Epic Poem While He's Weaving Tapestry, He Had Better Shut Up, He'll Never Do Any Good At All.

With The Arrogance Of Youth, I Determined To Do No Less Than To Transform The World With Beauty. If I Have Succeeded In Some Small Way, If Only In One Small Corner Of The World, Amongst The Men And Women I Love, Then I Shall Count Myself Blessed, And Blessed, And Blessed, And The Work Goes On.

Love Is Enough: Though The World Be A-waning, And The Woods Have No Voice But The Voice Of Complaining.

My Work Is The Embodiment Of Dreams In One Form Or Another.