We prove, we do not explain, our birth.

Yule—Yul log for the Christmas-fire tale-spinner—of fairy tales that can come true: Yul Brynner.

Not till the poets among us can be "literalists of the imagination"-above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." shall we have it.

The mind is an enchanting thing.

Which of us has not been stunned by the beauty of an animal's skin or its flexibility in motion?

As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.

Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.