The poet is an untier of knots, and love without words is a knot, and it drowns.

Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best.

Now I am nothing but a veil; all my body is a veil beneath which a child sleeps.

The poet is an untier of knots, and love without words is a knot, and it drowns.

Now my belly is as noble as my heart.

Let the radiance of my enthusiasms envelop the poor courtyard and the bare classroom. Let my heart be a stronger column and my goodwill purer gold than the columns and gold of rich schools.

We are guilty of many errors and many faults, But our worst crime is abandoning the children, Neglecting the fountain of life. Many of the things we need can wait. The child cannot. Right now is the time his bones are being formed, His blood is being made, And his senses are being developed. To him we cannot answer 'Tomorrow.' His name is 'Today.'