In the great cities, winter glitters with art and feasting. But poetry, the country cousin, sees only the dearth of the fields.

Some eras worship infancy; some, the aged. None as yet has adored middle age.

The most reliable pleasure afforded by theater is the intermission.

Staid middle age loves the hurricane passions of opera.

Think carefully before asking for justice. Mercy might be safer.

Everything changes as it is written down.

The sun cares nothing for illumination.