When man wanted to make a machine that would walk he created the wheel, which does not resemble a leg.

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

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

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

To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.

Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.

Twentieth pupil of the centuries knows its stuff and bird-changed this century like Jesus climbs the sky.