We are not loved by our friends for what we are; rather, we are loved in spite of what we are.

Should we continue to look upwards? Is the light we can see in the sky one of those which will presently be extinguished? The ideal is terrifying to behold... brilliant but threatened on all sides by the dark forces that surround it: nevertheless, no more in danger than a star in the jaws of the clouds.

Because one doesn't like the way things are is no reason to be unjust towards God.

A poet is a world enclosed in a man.

He who despairs is wrong.

The true artist can only labor con amore.

First problem. To produce wealth. Second problem. To distribute it.