The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.

For man is by nature an artist.

The singer alone does not make a song, there has to be someone who hears. -Broken Song

Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother- dust.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. That is my leadership.

Discipline divorced from wisdom is not true discipline, but merely the meaningless following of custom, which is only a disguise for stupidity.