I heard an angel speak last night/And he said, "Write!"
Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.
May the good God pardon all good men.
He who breathes deepest lives most.
Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.
There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.