To paraphrase the great poet Dante, the heavens swirl above us and our eyes are still cast to the ground.
Pay me for my work, but I don't do it for the money.
The true poem rests between the words.
Anyone contemplating world war is certifiably insane, no matter how calm they seem.
Money is only a human invention. I get paid for my work, it's a system of trade, but it's not my purpose and reason for living.
Mediocrity inspires neither great love nor hate.