If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.
Art is the child of Nature.
Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.
Some must follow and some command, through all are made oclay.
'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
Autumn arrives like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.