One Day You Will Ask Me Which

Poetry, My Dear Friends, Is A Sacred Incarnation Of A Smile. Poetry Is A Sigh That Dries The Tears. Poetry Is A Spirit Who Dwells In The Soul, Whose Nourishment Is The Heart, Whose Wine Is Affection. Poetry That Comes Not In This Form Is A False Messiah.

There Are Those Who Give With Joy, And That Joy Is Their Reward.

Only Yesterday I Was No Different Than Them, Yet I Was Saved. I Am Explaining To You The Way Of Life Of A People Who Say Every Sort Of Wicked Thing About Me Because I Sacrificed Their Friendship To Gain My Own Soul. I Left The Dark Paths Of Their Duplicity And Turned My Eyes Toward The Light Where There Is Salvation, Truth, And Justice. They Have Exiled Me Now From Their Society, Yet I Am Content. Mankind Only Exiles The One Whose Large Spirit Rebels Against Injustice And Tyranny. He Who Does Not Prefer Exile To Servility Is Not Free In The True And Necessary Sense Of Freedom.

Your Fear Of Death Is But The Trembling Of The Shepherd When He Stands Before The King Whose Hand Is To Be Laid Upon Him In Honour.

Tell Your Secret To The Wind, But Don't Blame It For Telling The Trees.