Conversation Is The Laboratory And Workshop Of

Cowardice Shuts The Eyes Till The Sky Is Not Larger Than A Calf-skin: Shuts The Eyes So That We Cannot See The Horse That Is Running Away With Us; Worse, Shuts The Eyes Of The Mind And Chills The Heart.

Each Moment Of The Year Has Its Own Beauty.

As We Grow Old, The Beauty Steals Inward.

Night-dreams Trace On Memory's Wall Shadows Of The Thoughts Of Day, And Thy Fortunes, As They Fall, The Bias Of The Will Betray.

If Eyes Were Made For Seeing, Then Beauty Is Its Own Excuse For Being.