Battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's-self is.

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, with many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, With every leaf a miracle - and from this bush in the dooryard, With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its flower I break.

My words itch at your ears till you understand them

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked.

Strong and content I travel the open road.

All is procession; the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.