The Hands Are The Heart's Messengers.

Truly As The Sun Can Rot Or Mend, Love Can Make One Bestial Or Make A Beast A Man.

... We Do Not Admire What We Cannot Understand.

Poetry Is The Art Of Creating Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads.

Impatience Is The Mark Of Independence, Not Of Bondage.

There Is No Pleasure Subtler Than The Sensation Of Being A Good Workman; And In Work There Is The Sense Of Consanguinity-unconscious As A Rule But Sometimes Conscious.