Our Bodies Are Molded Rivers.

Nature Is An Aeolian Harp, A Musical Instrument Whose Tones Are The Re-echo Of Higher Strings Within Us.

Our Bodies Are Molded Rivers.

What Delights, What Pleasures Does Your Life Offer You That Outweigh The Raptures Of Death?

When You Understand How To Love One Thing, Then You Also Understand How To Love Everything.

The Art Of Writing Books Is Not Yet Invented. But It Is At The Point Of Being Invented. Fragments Of This Nature Are Literary Seeds. There May Be Many An Infertile Grain Among Them: Nevertheless, If Only Some Come Up!