Of the truly creative no one is ever master; it must be left to go its own way.

Smoothly and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is covered.

The flowers of life are but visionary. How many pass away and leave no trace behind! How few yield any fruit,--and the fruit itself, how rarely does it ripen! And yet there are flowers enough; and is it not strange, my friend, that we should suffer the little that does really ripen to rot, decay, and perish unenjoyed?

With little art, clear wit and sense Suggest their own delivery.

A lot of people do not care about your money until nearly penniless. They also do so with time

All theory, my friend, is grey, But green is life's glad golden tree.

We must be young to do great things.