Prose and poetry are as different as food and drink.

I am a woman, and even if I could proceed with harshness and rigidity, it would disgust me nonetheless.

Caution is the daughter of circumspection, but she tends to outgrow her mother.

Piety is the fermentation of the forming mind and the putrefaction of the disintegrating one.

Erroneous views and presumptuousness send a talent to the insane asylum.

The present is never poetic as it serves necessity, necessity, however, is prosaic.

Why does the past look so enticing to us? For the same reason why from a distance a meadow with flowers looks like a flower bed.