Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.

My road leads me seawards To the white dipping sails.

Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.

I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth; / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.

Love is a flame to set the will on fire

Humans consist of body, mind and imagination. Our bodies are faulty, our minds untrustworthy, but our imagination has made us remarkable.