By Walking One Makes The Road, And

In Order To Write Poetry, You Must First Invent A Poet Who Will Write It.

By Walking One Makes The Road, And Upon Glancing Behind Sees The Path

Wherever Learning Breeds Specialists, The Sum Of Human Culture Is Enhanced Thereby. That Is The Illusion And Consolation Of Specialists.

The Wind, One Brilliant Day, Called To My Soul With An Odor Of Jasmine. "in Return For The Odor Of My Jasmine, I'd Like All The Odor Of Your Roses." "i Have No Roses; All The Flowers In My Garden Are Dead." "well Then, I'll Take The Withered Petals And The Yellow Leaves And The Waters Of The Fountain." The Wind Left. And I Wept. And I Said To Myself: "what Have You Done With The Garden That Was Entrusted To You?

The Only Living Language Is The Language In Which We Think And Have Our Being.