The truth is simple. If it was complicated, everyone would understand it.

When I give, I give myself.

The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.

Strong and content I travel the open road.

The past, the future, majesty, love - if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.

Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I spring from the pages into your arms-decease calls me forth.

Resist much, obey little.