What Makes Poetry? A Full Heart, Brimful

The Flowers Of Life Are But Illusions. How Many Fade Away And Leave No Trace.

When Nature Begins To Reveal Her Open Secret To A Man, He Feels An Irresistible Longing For Her Worthiest Interpreter, Art.

To The Man Of Thought Almost Nothing Is Really Ridiculous.

It Is Not Doing The Thing We Like To Do, But Liking The Thing We Have To Do, That Makes Life Blessed.

Never By Reflection, But Only By Doing Is Self- Knowledge Possible To One.