Genius Is A Promontory Jutting Out Into

If God Had Intended That Man Should Go Backward, He Would Have Given Him Eyes In The Back Of His Head.

A Poet Is A World Enclosed In A Man.

All That Was Neither A City, Nor A Church, Nor A River, Nor Color, Nor Light, Nor Shadow: It Was Reverie. For A Long Time, I Remained Motionless, Letting Myself Be Penetrated Gently By This Unspeakable Ensemble, By The Serenity Of The Sky And The Melancholy Of The Moment. I Do Not Know What Was Going On In My Mind, And I Could Not Express It; It Was One Of Those Ineffable Moments When One Feels Something In Himself Which Is Going To Sleep And Something Which Is Awakening.

Virtue Has A Veil, Vice A Mask.

Our Life Dreams The Utopia. Our Death Achieves The Ideal.