For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.

How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ?

When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.

By logic and reason we die hourly; by imagination we live.

We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.