God is the poetic genius in each of us.

For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath And the want Of thought is death Then am I A happy fly If I live Or if I die

Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.

General good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocite, flatterer.

Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so?

For everything exists and not one sigh nor smile nor tear, one hair nor particle of dust, not one can pass away.

Shame is pride's cloak.