There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!
truth outlives pain, as the soul does life.
I heard an angel speak last night/And he said, "Write!"
Whoever lives true life, will love true love.
My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
What is art but the life upon the larger scale, the higher. When, graduating up in a spiral line of still expanding and ascending gyres, it pushes toward the intense significance of all things, hungry for the infinite?