Poetry is a finikin thing of airThat lives uncertainly and not for longYet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.

The exceeding brightness of this early sunMakes me conceive how dark I have become.

After the leaves have fallen, we returnTo a plain sense of things. It is as ifWe had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On termsLike these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

From oriole to crow, note the declineIn music. Crow is realist. But, then, Oriole, also, may be realist.

We say God and the imagination are one . . .How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Divorce is just as contagious as Marriage.

I do find that Western medicine is more and more open to proving energetic concepts. Why not, because modern physics is 100 percent based on it.

Hark! o'er the dread abyss the sea-bird screams-- The rocks resound--again the lightning gleams!

Code-sharing, alliances, and connections are all about "how do we screw the poor customer for more money?"

The track record of economists in predicting events is monstrously bad. It is beyond simplification; it is like medieval medicine.

Life is a balance between rest and movement.

Sometimes you just need to go through a door.

Some people do have a very innate sexuality to them. I may or may not have it, but it makes people see you in a certain light that has nothing to do with me.

If you do not change, you can become extinct !

Each person, makes their own terrible passion their God.