Art Is Endless Like A River Flowing,

I Had Always Thought Of Paradise / In Form And Image As A Library.

Heaven And Hell Seem Out Of Proportion To Me: The Actions Of Men Do Not Deserve So Much.

Poets, Like The Blind, Can See In The Dark.

While We Are Asleep In This World, We Are Awake In Another One

The Mathematical Sciences Wield Their Particular Language Made Of Digits And Signs, No Less Subtle Than Any Other.