Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.
Poverty is a veil that obscures the face of greatness. An appeal is a mask covering the face of tribulation.
Progress lies not in enhancing what is, but in advancing toward what will be.
Rebellion without truth is like spring in a bleak, arid desert.
Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.
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If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were.
If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.

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All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.
All that spirits desire, spirits attain.
An eye for an eye, and the whole world would be blind.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.
Art is a step from what is obvious and well-known toward what is arcane and concealed.
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