Evermore In The World Is This Marvelous

In Art, The Hand Can Never Execute Anything Higher Than The Heart Can Imagine.

Up And Away For Life! Be Fleet!- The Frost-king Ties My Fumbling Feet, Sings In My Ears, My Hands Are Stones, Curdles The Blood To The Marble Bones, Tugs At The Heart-strings, Numbs The Sense, And Hems In Life With Narrowing Fence. Well, In This Broad Bed Lie And Sleep,- The Punctual Stars Will Vigil Keep,- Embalmed By Purifying Cold; The Winds Shall Sing Their Dead-march Old, The Snow Is No Ignoble Shroud, The Moon Thy Mourner, And The Cloud.

Among Provocative, The Next Best Thing To Good Preaching Is Bad Preaching.

Let None Presume To Measure The Irregularities Of Michael Angelo Or Socrates By Village Scales.

Lose Yourself In Nature And Find Peace