What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real.

Our scientific world is our world of reasoning. It has its greatness and uses and attractions. We are ready to pay homage due to it. But when it claims to have discovered the real world for us and laughs at the worlds of all simple-minded men, then we must say it is like a general grown intoxicated with his power, usurping the throne of his king

O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.

In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.

Poems On Love Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty. Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it. Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted.

We manage to swallow flesh, only because we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do.

We gain freedom when we have paid the full price.