I am a phoenix who runs after arsonists.

The spirit knows that its growth is the real aim of existence.

All human accomplishment has the same origin, identically. Imagination is a force of nature. Is this not enough to make a person full of ecstasy? Imagination, imagination, imagination.

It is a joy to be choked with thought.

Art attempts to find in the universe, in matter as well as in the facts of life, what is fundamental, enduring, essential.

To tell the truth I never had it so good. But I lacked the strength of character to bear such joy.

Is our species crazy? Plenty of evidence.