A son is like a lopped off branch. As a falcon he comes when he wills and goes where he lists.

Significance is sweet.

Nature creates while destroying, and doesn't care whether it creates or destroys as long as life isn't extinguished, as long as death doesn't lose its rights.

It's all romanticism, nonsense, rottenness, art.

Nothing is worse and more hurtful than a happiness that comes too late.

Art, if one employs this term in the broad sense that includes poetry within its realm, is an art of creation laden with ideals, located at the very core of the life of a people, defining the spiritual and moral shape of that life.

Youth eats all the sugared fancy cakes and regards them as its daily bread. But there'll come a time when you'll start asking just for a crust.