The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

Realism is a corruption of reality.

Life is the elimination of what is dead.

A violent order is disorder; and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one.

Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.

Union of the weakest develops strength not wisdom. Can all men, together, avenge one of the leaves that have fallen in autumn? But the wise man avenges by building his city in snow.

The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.