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

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

Agonies are one of my changes of garments.

Here is not merely a nation but a teeming nation of nations.

this is thy hour o soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death and the stars.

Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them