Your Hearts Know In Silence The Secrets

Death Most Resembles A Prophet Who Is Without Honor In His Own Land Or A Poet Who Is A Stranger Among His People.

Nature Reaches Out To Us With Welcoming Arms, And Bids Us Enjoy Her Beauty; But We Dread Her Silence And Rush Into The Crowded Cities, There To Huddle Like Sheep Fleeing From A Ferocious Wolf.

Because The Soul Is Like A Flower That Folds Its Petals When Dark Comes, And Breathes Not Its Fragrance Into The Phantoms Of The Night.

For The Vision Of One Man Lends Not Its Wings To Another Man.

Art Is A Step In The Known Toward The Unknown