For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life’s procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.

God has given you a spirit with wings on which to soar into the spacious firmament of Love and Freedom. Is it not pitiful than that you cut your wings with your own hands and suffer your soul to crawl like an insect upon the earth?

My loneliness was born when men praised my talkative faults and blamed my silent virtues.

We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting

You are your own forerunner, and the towers you have builded are but the foundation of your giant-self. And that self too shall be a foundation.

You, the strong, have I loved, though the marks of your iron hoofs are yet upon my flesh.

All you have shall some day be given. Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors.