Come With Us To The Field, Or

Be Like The Flower, Turn Your Faces To The Sun.

Love Descends Upon Our Souls By The Will Of God And Not By The Demand Or The Plea Of The Individual.

Trickery Succeeds Sometimes, But It Always Commits Suicide.

Know, Therefore, That From The Greater Silence I Shall Return... Forget Not That I Shall Come Back To You... A Little While, A Moment Of Rest Upon The Wind, And Another Woman Shall Bear Me.

The Poet Is A Bird Of Strange Moods. He Descends From His Lofty Domain To Tarry Among Us, Singing; If We Do Not Honor Him He Will Unfold His Wings And Fly Back To His Dwelling Place.