And Alone And Without His Nest Shall

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

Perhaps A Man May Commit Suicide In Self-defense.

Faith Is A Knowledge Within The Heart, Beyond The Reach Of Proof.

All Things In This Creation Exist Within You And All Things In You Exist In Creation; There Is No Border Between You And The Closest Things, And There Is No Distance Between You And The Farthest Things, And All Things, From The Lowest To The Loftiest, From The Smallest To The Greatest, Are Within You As Equal Things.

To Judge You By Your Failures Is To Cast Blame Upon The Seasons For Their Inconstancy.