Poetry is the cipher key to the five mystic wishes packed in a hollow silver bullet fed to a flying fish.

My room for books and study or for sitting and thinking about nothing in particular to see what would happen was at the end of a hall.

For we know when a nation goes down and never comes back, when a society or a civilization perishes, one condition may always be found. They forgot where they came from. They lost sight of what brought them along.

I have become infected, now that I see how beautifully a book is coming out of all this.

Now I am here - now read me - give me a name.

Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.

Alike and ever alike, we are on all continents in the need of love, food, clothing, work, speech, worship, sleep, games, dancing, fun. From tropics to arctics humanity live with these needs so alike, so inexorably alike.