The infinite being has assumed unto himself the mystery of finitude. And in him who is love the finite and the infinite are made one.

And joy is everywhere; it is in the earth's green covering of grass; in the blue serenity of the sky.

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.

I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

Wrong is wrong only when you are at liberty to choose.

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.

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