The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.
Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.
The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.
I dwell in possibilities... a fairer house than prose.