The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.

The newer people of this modern age are more eager to amass than to realize.

Music is the purest form of art, and therefore the most direct expression of beauty, with a form and spirit which is one and simple, and least encumbered with anything extraneous. We seem to feel that the manifestation of the infinite in the finite forms of creation is music itself, silent and visible.

Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house—do not pass by like a dream.

Reach high, for stars lie hidden in you. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.

Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.

[The poets' role is that of] capturing on their instruments the secret stir of life in the air and giving it voice in the music of prophecy