The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.

And the merry love the fiddle, and the merry love to dance.

It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.

Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.

Not a man alive has so much luck that he can play with it.

The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on his death bed.

... Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild bird mate in the wild.