To Busy Oneself With What Is Futile

Poetry Is The Work Of The Bard And Of The People Who Inspire Him.

Treacherous Assassins, Enemies Of The People, And Worthy Of Everyone's Ridicule Are Those Who, Under The Pretext Of Guiding Future Generations, Teach Them An Isolated System Of Doctrines And Whisper In Their Ear (instead Of The Sweet Message Of Love) The Barbarous Gospel Of Hate.

I Know That When The World Surrenders, Pallid, To Repose, The Murmur Of A Tranquil Stream Through The Deep Silence Flows.

Oh, What Company Good Poets Are!

The Nation That Buys Commands, The Nation That Sells Serves; It Is Necessary To Balance Trade In Order To Ensure Freedom; The Country That Wants To Die Sells Only To One Country , And The Country That Wants To Survive Sells To More Than One.