Poetry, my dear friends, is a sacred incarnation of a smile. Poetry is a sigh that dries the tears. Poetry is a spirit who dwells in the soul, whose nourishment is the heart, whose wine is affection. Poetry that comes not in this form is a false messiah.

We are the sons of Sorrow; we are the poets and the prophets and the musicians.

Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care, nor your nights without a want and a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.

Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.

To belittle, you have to be little.