The symbol of all art is the Prism. The goal is unrealism. The method is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism, into the secret glories which it contains.

You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

May my mind stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple and even if its sunday may i be wrong for whenever men are right they are not young

since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

That which we die for lives as wholly as that which we live for dies.

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.