I sing the joy of wandering and the pleasure of the wanderer's death

Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.

Now and then it's good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.

How slow life is, how violent hope is.

A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.

In this mirror, I am enclosed a live and real as you. Imagine angels and not like the reflections.

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.