Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words, tripped up, bewildered and so defeated-thrown aside-a man hesitates to write down his innermost convictions.

All women are not Helen, I know that, but have Helen in their hearts.

The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.

For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.

O Marvelous! What new configuration will come next? I am bewildered with multiplicity.

Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.

A new world is only a new mind.