Everyone's future is, in reality, uncertain and full of unknown treasures from which all may draw unguessed prizes.

Modern poets are bells of lead. They should tinkle melodiously but usually they just klunk.

Yet in the blood of man there is a tide, an old sea-current, rather, that is somehow akin to the twilight, which brings him rumours of beauty from however far away, as drift-wood is found at sea from islands not yet discovered; and this spring-tide or current that visits the blood of man comes from the fabulous quarter of his lineage, from the legendary, of old; it takes him out to the woodlands, out to the hills; he listens to ancient song.

It was the hour when gauze-winged insects are born that only live for a day.

Bricks without straw are more easily made than imagination without memories.

Contrast is the dramatist's method.

Everyone's future is, in reality, uncertain and full of unknown treasures from which all may draw unguessed prizes.