If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I fall in season and now is a time of ripening.

The artist must create himself or be born again.

Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.

We call it "Nature"; only reluctantly admitting ourselves to be "Nature" too.

I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct.

Mediocrity is perhaps due not so much to lack of imagination as to lack of faith in the imagination, lack of the capacity for this abandon.

Yes, he is here in this open field, in sunlight, among the few young trees set out to modify the bare facts-- he's here, but only because we are here. When we go, he goes with us to be your hands that never do violence, your eyes that wonder, your lives that daily praise life by living it, by laughter. He is never alone here, never cold in the field of graves.